The thing is, I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I mean, I don’t have to remember what happened over the past few days to be okay. The doctor said herself that some memory loss isn’t at all abnormal with head traumas like mine. I just don’t understand why we’re not throwing a coming-home party and reveling in our normalcy. There has to be something they can give me to make me remember. I mean, we’re Grahams. Better living by pharmaceuticals is practically our family motto. But the nightmares come every night. Filled with wailing sirens and haunting lullabies and when I lay in my bed unable to fall back asleep, I think it’s probably better that I’ve forgotten.
Regardless, I have to put some distance between this hospital and me. No one will talk about it, but I know Amelia is still here, connected to machines. And even though we weren’t best friends and even though she almost beat me for first singles, the thought of her broken body, a body that I technically broke, makes me physically ill. I know it was just an accident. I know it wasn’t my fault that I hit her, but it doesn’t change the fact that I was driving that car. And it definitely doesn’t change the fact that she’s stuck in a coma while I lie around complaining about hospital food. I have to get out of here. It’s time to go home.
I hear a tentative knock on my door and immediately paste on my best I’m-no-longer-concussed smile.
But when Janie walks into the room, I let it slide right off my face so a genuine smile replaces it. “What are you doing here? I’ve missed you!” My words come out in a rush. I’m just so happy to see my best friend.
Without warning, she crumples.
“Soph, I’ve been so worried—”
I cut her off. She’s scaring me. I don’t like this one bit. “I’m fine. Swear. It’s my mom who is insane and my dad who can barely look at me. I just need to get the hell out of here. They’re still waking me up every hour and I’ve been here for almost two days.”
Janie pulls her eyebrows together in confusion, her eyes frantically searching mine, when my mother swoops back into the room. “Well, you’re in luck,” she proclaims, like a knight in shining couture. “I’ll pack your things. We’re going home!”
Thirty-Four
“JANIE . . .” I COMPLAIN AT HER THE WAY I HAVE A MILLION TIMES before when I’m waiting for her to pick out an outfit or decide between eight hundred identical pictures to Insta. “I’m in, let’s go already.” I’m sitting in the wheelchair the nurse insisted we use, waiting for her to wheel me as far away from this hospital as humanly possible.
Janie finally grabs the handles and pushes me down the hall. It was my mother’s idea to pull the car around and wait for us at the entrance. She said she wanted to give Janie and me some time to catch up. But Janie’s been weirdly quiet. I can tell there’s something bothering her, and honestly it’s kind of pissing me off. I mean, I’m the one who’s been in two accidents. What could she possibly be obsessing over?
I’m about to ask Janie if she wants to sleep over as we weave our way through yet another waiting room, but she suddenly freezes.
“Why are we stopping? I’m dying for some unfiltered, nonrecycled air.” I swivel around to see what she’s looking at, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. She’s staring at a nurse and a resident with a clipboard in front of the doors to the ICU. My throat starts to burn. I need to get away from here.
“Amelia Fischer, bed twenty-seven, respiratory distress, condition worsening,” the nurse says as the resident writes furiously.
“Janie, come on. This isn’t any of our business.” I feel like I’m going to be sick. They can’t be talking about Amelia. She can’t be getting worse. Janie shakes me off and takes a few steps closer to hear exactly what is being said.
“Almost a week? Percentage of full recovery reduced by approximately 67 percent?” The resident looks up as he speaks, recalling the information.
The nurse nods. “If she were breathing on her own, she’d have a fighting chance.” She shakes her head.
Janie turns to face me. “Did you hear that? She’s getting worse. We have to do something.”
I can’t do this right now. My head pounds and I really might vomit.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Janie’s eyes are so serious, so sad.
I shake my head. I should be annoyed. Of course I don’t remember; I have no idea what she’s talking about. But I’m more focused on not getting sick. I take deep breaths, but still my mouth waters and I feel like I’m losing this particular battle. To make everything worse, I can tell by the way my best friend cocks her head at me, the way she straightens her spine before speaking, that she knows something, something important about me and the lost days after the accident.
“You’ve been carrying around a notebook. Writing stuff in it. Ring any bells? I found it after . . .”
“Stop. Please.” Because I don’t want to know. I really don’t. Something happened over the past few days. Something awful and strange and unbelievable and I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to try to understand it. Because once I ask the question, I might be faced with an impossible truth. And I try to avoid those. The only thing I want right now is to go home and pick up my life exactly where I left off.
So I pretend not to notice how disappointed Janie looks when I interrupt her again and demand that she keep pushing me the hell out of this place. As soon as we exit the front doors of the hospital and I see my parents waiting to take me home, I know it was worth it.
I jump out of the wheelchair and thank God I’m a Graham.
Thirty-Five
I’M ANTSY IN THE BACK SEAT THE ENTIRE WAY HOME. MY MOM LOVES any excuse for a party and knowing her she’s probably planned something ridiculous to welcome me home like when I had my tonsils out in fourth grade. They invited over one hundred kids, and there was an ice-cream truck and pony rides and a ridiculous pink, tonsil-shaped cake that no one ate because it kind of looked like a vagina. Even though I could barely talk, I remember being so proud that my parents loved me enough to prove it.
I hold my breath when we approach our street. My mother types a message into her phone, probably warning the crowd that we’re coming. I hope my parents didn’t go too crazy this time. They have the tendency to invite the entire world to these things, and today it would be nice to have something a bit more intimate.
I have to admit, I’m a little surprised that Zach didn’t come visit me in the hospital. We never miss an opportunity to post something adorable, and what could be better than my boyfriend feeding me ice chips or something? Or wheelchair races. Or us playing doctor.
But I’m sure he’s texted. Maybe he just wants to surprise me once I’m home. My phone was smashed in the accident, and I keep reaching for it like some kind of tic. My mom promised me a new one and I feel twitchy just thinking about all the missed messages that must have piled up over the past couple of days.
I crane my neck to look out the window, checking for cars. I’m sure that’s why Janie was acting so strange back at the hospital. It must have been awkward for her to pretend that she knew nothing about my party. But the streets are empty, and when we pull up to our house, the garage is closed. The windows are all dark.
And I have to give my mom credit. She’s really going for it this time. It’s one thing to throw your daughter a welcome-home party after a short stay in the hospital, but it takes a certain je ne sais quoi to pull off a legitimate surprise.
The second the car stops in the garage, I throw open my door and run into the house. I can’t wait to see my friends. I feel like it’s been months since I’ve seen them. I need Brooke’s stream-of-consciousness catch-up since Janie is acting like a capital B. I want every piece of juicy gossip, but also the random, mundane details no one else ever cares about. I want it all. I miss Zach. I miss everyone’s easy assumptions, my purpose and place in the pecking order. I need that so badly right now . . . and Jake. I need him too. But for different reasons entirely.
I’m smiling like a freak when I run into the house. So much fo
r the surprise. Whatever. Is anyone ever really surprised at these things? I dash into the dark kitchen and brace myself for the onslaught of voices that no matter how much you prepare yourself for still scare the shit out of you.
My smile wavers.
Because the kitchen is empty. The house is dark. Nobody’s jumping out and yelling surprise. In fact, it smells like dead flowers and there are dirty dishes near the sink.
“Hello? We’re home. . . .” I still expect someone to throw their arms around me, but when the door slams behind me, it’s only my parents.
“Did you need something, honey? I thought I heard you call out.” My mom slides the hair back from my forehead, and I lean into her for a minute. My parents either think I’m too traumatized for a welcome-home party or they invited my friends and no one bothered to show up. I’m honestly not sure which scenario is worse.
“Can I have my new phone, please?” I hold my hand out and my parents exchange concerned looks.
“Honey, the doctors suggested we ease back into things. . . .” She cuts herself off as my father inhales sharply.
“What your mother is trying to say, honey, is that we’d like you to get acclimated before jumping back into things . . . socially. . . .”
“But Zach . . . ,” I start.
“Can wait,” my mom says with finality.
Before I can press them any further, the doorbell rings. I dash through the hallway before they have the chance to stop me. Through the glass, I glimpse a gigantic bouquet of sunflowers. I can’t quite see his face, but I’m sure it’s Zach. Yes, I already feel something.
I fling open the door and the flowers move aside. But I don’t see Zach’s perfectly styled hair or warm eyes. Instead I see Landon Crane.
“What do you want?” The aggressive words don’t quite match the tears gathering in my eyes. What the hell is happening to me?
“I . . . just . . .” I’ve never seen Landon Crane blush. At least not since he was five or so. It’s even less cute now than it was then. “I know how we left things but I’m serious about calling the police. I found her dad. He’s here, Sophie. Dr. Edward Dowling . . .”
Without thinking, I slam the door in his face.
As I walk upstairs, I hear Landon ringing the doorbell repeatedly, calling for me, his voice muffled, and I could swear he says something about bringing me another scone. I let out a little snort. Now I know he’s crazy.
Thirty-Six
MY ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF AT FIVE A.M. AND WITHOUT MISSING A beat, I’m up and out of bed. I take my time in the shower. It’s so nice to be back in my own bathroom with all of my favorite products. I linger over the rose-scented shampoo and treat myself to my favorite exfoliator. I just want to be perfect today so I can forget all the weird stuff from the hospital. Maybe if I can start looking normal on the outside, I’ll start feeling normal on the inside.
It takes me almost an hour to style my hair, pick out the perfect outfit, and apply the kind of minimalist makeup that’s supposed to make you worthy of the iwokeuplikethis hashtag. If I’m going to talk my parents into letting me back into my old life, I’m going to have to look exactly like my old self.
My mom loves telling me that you don’t get what you wish for, you get what you work for. Well, today, I’m ready to work it.
I know that I’m going to get my way when I sit down at the breakfast table and my mother takes one look at me and dissolves into a puddle of tears. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me, but it’s just such a relief to see you looking like yourself again.”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m breezing through the front doors of Morristown High School and I can’t wait to see everyone. Janie always teases me for my incurable FOMO and she’s totally right. I hate missing stuff. I hate not being in the middle of everything, the girl who everyone loves. The one who’s never left behind.
Honestly, the whispers don’t surprise me. They’re a fact of life. It’s the pointing, it’s the averted eyes, and more than anything else, it’s the silence that terrifies me. Janie and Brooke aren’t waiting for me by my locker, no one calls my name from across the hallway, no one even bothers to smile in my direction.
I walk to Zach’s locker. If there’s anyone I can count on, it’s him. It might not feel as perfect as it looks, but now, more than anything, I need him. Sure enough, he’s standing with his back to me, and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around his waist. In spite of everything that’s changed over the last few months, all the growing apart and tense conversations, I want to feel close to him again. We can start over. And maybe this time we can do it right.
When I settle the side of my face in the nook of his back where it fits perfectly, he completely tenses up. Oh my God, I’ve made a mistake. I’ve hugged the wrong guy. Did he change lockers? My cheeks are on fire as I pull away, but then he turns around.
“Hey, Sophie. Glad you’re okay.” Zach slams his locker door shut without even looking me in the eye.
Pain explodes in my chest and for the first time since I woke up, I feel like I might have an actual breakdown. Zach has always been there. Sure, things have been a little weird between us, but that’s how relationships go. Everyone has their issues. We can figure them out. What could I have done that was so awful? Did something happen with Jake? Did he find out?
My head is spinning, but more than anything, I’m pissed. “Really? That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I mean, you have Landon Crane now, right?”
“Landon? What are you even talking about?” Truthfully, I’m starting to have a pretty good idea, considering Landon showed up at my house with flowers yesterday, but I’m choosing to ignore that minor detail because I firmly believe that if I don’t think about it, it never really happened.
“Look, Sophie. What you’ve been through is awful. I get it. And I cared about you, but I meant what I said in the car. We’re done.”
Cared. Past tense. Done.
“What you said in the car? I mean, I don’t remember any of this. Can you please just tell me . . . ?” I grab his hand.
And he shakes it off.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not now.” Zach turns and disappears into the crush of students buzzing around the hallways. My eyes scan the crowd for Janie and Brooke and their endless questions and worries. Or even Jake—my mom is supposed to be at Pilates and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck back to my house for some extracurricular activity together during school hours.
But there’s no one there. Not even a friendly face or a curious acquaintance. I realize all at once that there’s nothing here for me. My life as Sophie Graham is over.
I walk right back out the front door.
Thirty-Seven
WHEN I GET HOME, I DO WHAT ANY MATURE, SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD gifted student would do after she finds out that everything she’s worked so hard for has suddenly gone up in smoke. I lock myself in my room and refuse to come out for the rest of the day.
My mom stands on the other side of the door for hours, pleading with me to let her in. To talk to her. To explain what happened. But I can’t do it.
Eventually she gives up. And the house goes silent and I’m left with nothing but my mixed-up thoughts.
Before the accident, I could tie my life up in a perfect bow. I knew how to loop my parents around, my friends, even Jake. I knew how to twist tennis and tighten school. I needed Zach as the knot. It wasn’t always perfect, it never is, but you can’t have the bow without the knot. I never meant to hurt him, to have him find out. I never meant for Jake to even happen, if that’s what this is all about. I knew we’d figure things out, that one day we’d be on the same page. It kills me to wonder if we’ll ever have that chance. I can’t even consider how Landon is involved. I haven’t thought about him since sixth grade.
Someone knocks so softly that, for a minute, I’m sure I must have imagined it. I open the door more out of curiosity than anything else.
It’s Janie.
“Your mom called me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there today, I’m just not sure what to do, Soph.”
“Whatever.” I feel the anger bubbling up in my chest. She should have been there for me. Janie of all people. She’s my person and she disappears because of some stupid fight we had while she was pushing me in a wheelchair. Screw that.
She pulls a spiral notebook out of her bag. “I’m sorry. Really. I am. But you need to read this.” Janie hands me the notebook, her eyes pleading.
Part of me wants to slam the door in her face, but it’s Janie. She’s practically my sister. I take the notebook from between her fingers. Somehow I’m not surprised when I flip open the cover to see that almost every single page has been filled with my loopy, familiar script.
There are pages of lists with words that make no sense to me. There are letters. And there are stories. I skim through all the names and memories, words like Mae and St. Anthony and house angel dancing off the page. Unfamiliar people and locations, as out of place as a discordant note in a symphony.
The words begin to blur together, and my head starts to spin. Something is wrong. I’m missing something. Something I once knew, something I still know but can’t quite reach.
Until I see it on the last page, written so small that I have to squint to make out the words.
I am Amelia Fischer
Thirty-Eight
“WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?” I ASK, GRIPPING THE NOTEBOOK TO MY chest like the words might slip right down the pages, bleeding ink onto my hardwood floors.
Janie hesitates. “You’ve been writing in it constantly over the last few days and I knew when you were in the hospital the second time, you wouldn’t want your parents to see. I found it in your car. Sophie, you told Landon and me that you saw someone there, trying to take Amelia. The night of the accident.”
Now You See Her Page 19