by Tara Kelly
“I’m going, Justin. Whether you like it or not,” I said.
“I already have a record. Let me take the risk.”
“Exactly. That’s why you’re the last person who should be going.”
“Wait”—Kari held her hand up—“you’ve got a record?”
Justin stuffed his untouched food into his bag. “What can I say? I wasn’t always this charming.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Wow, I totally had you pegged wrong.”
He glanced over at me. “That happens a lot.”
I stayed close behind Justin as we left film class. He was still trying to convince me not to go. But Roger and Kari stood in the parking lot waiting for us. We didn’t have time to argue about it anymore.
We piled into the back of Roger’s car. Kari rode shotgun. The two of them talked about their favorite metal bands.
“At least wait in the car while we check it out,” Justin said in my ear.
“Quit treating me like I can’t take care of myself. I was the one who protected you last time.”
He laced his fingers with mine. “That’s true. But Scott is twice your size. You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“And you did get hurt. She needs me, Justin. You need me too.”
He kissed my cheek and leaned toward Roger. “Where is this place?”
“It’s off San Juan Road, where all those empty warehouses are.” Roger made a left on Holly.
“You better not be dicking me around.”
“I’m not! I care about her too, okay? She’s my best friend.” He drummed the steering wheel.
That surprised me. I didn’t think they were that close.
“But you didn’t get a letter?” Kari asked him.
“I don’t have a computer.”
Roger made a right, and the bay glittered between rusty buildings. Trash, sleeping bags, and the skeletons of cars littered the gravel parking lots. A sour odor sifted through Roger’s cracked windows. It was strong enough to make me sick.
Two boarded-up houses sat at the end of the street. The pointy rooftops and intricate pillars made me think of princesses and frilly dresses. I bet someone cherished them a hundred years ago. Now they were graffiti-covered ghosts, like everything else around here.
Roger stopped in front of the pale green house. “I don’t see Scott’s car here.”
“Let’s go in anyway,” I answered, a shiver inching down my back. “We need to be sure.”
The four of us climbed out and walked toward an open window. The boards had been torn off, and a filthy sheet hung in their place.
Justin looked in all directions before peeking inside. “Hello?” he called. “I think I see someone.”
We followed him through the window. Bits of glass ripped the hem of my skirt, but I didn’t care.
Dim light revealed shredded floorboards and gouged walls. It smelled like rotting wood and piss. I had to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
And then we saw it. A crumpled heap on the floor. Pale skin. Strands of purple hair.
Justin ran over to her, Roger cussed under his breath, and a small cry escaped from Kari. But I froze. My fingertips and toes went numb.
Roger ripped the sheet from the window to let in more light. Kari joined Justin and covered her mouth. I walked toward them slowly. Justin pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. He touched Naomi’s face, prying her eyes open and waving the light in them.
“Is she breathing?” Kari asked.
“Barely,” Justin said. He pressed his fingers against the inside of her wrist.
I knelt next to Naomi, my limbs shaking. She was lying on her back, one knee bent at an odd angle. Saliva dripped down her chin, and her lips were tinged blue under the neon light. I grabbed her hand. It was hot and clammy.
Justin pulled out his cell phone and dialed three numbers.
Kari squatted next to me, hiccuplike sounds coming from her throat. “Naomi…?” She touched her cheek. “She’s fucking burning up.”
Roger paced around us, talking fast. His words blurred together. I blocked them out, because they didn’t make sense. Naomi wasn’t going to die. She’d wake up and laugh at us. Tell us we were being ridiculous.
I squeezed her hand and brushed the damp hair off her forehead. “You can’t give up.”
“I just found my friend unconscious,” Justin said into the phone. “She’s burning up, her pulse is all over the place.” He listened for a few seconds, his eyes wide and furious. “I think she overdosed on speed, but I don’t know for sure. I just found her like this.” More seconds passed. “I don’t know!”
Kari cried into Naomi’s chest, begging her to wake up. “Please be okay,” she repeated over and over.
Their voices echoed around me. Too many words to process. I kept squeezing her hand, hoping she’d return the gesture. Nothing. I wiped the spit from her mouth with my sleeve and leaned toward her face. “You have to wake up so I can tell you what a dork I am. And you can laugh. You were the first person to give me a chance, and I’m sorry if I was mean to you at first. I thought you’d be like everyone else.” I stroked her hair. “But you aren’t like everyone else, Naomi. And someone will love you for who you are—I know they will. Because I love you.”
Justin and Roger yelled back and forth, trying to figure out the address.
Kari’s voice was muffled in her chest.
Justin checked her pulse again. “It’s still erratic.” He glanced at me and covered the phone. “They’re on their way. But I have to stay on the phone until they get here.”
A commotion erupted behind me. Someone yelled, and feet thudded against the floor. Roger and Scott wrestled each other near the window.
Justin tossed the phone at me and ran toward them. He pulled Scott off Roger and tried to force him to the ground. Scott was like a rabid animal, punching and shouting.
Everything in my stomach crept into my throat. I put the phone to my ear, trying to not throw up. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” the female voice asked.
“Drea.”
“Okay, Drea. Can you tell me what’s going on right now?”
“They’re fighting. My friend needs help. We can’t get her to wake up.”
“I know. We have an ambulance on the way. I need you to stay calm for me, okay? It’s the best way we can help your friend right now.”
The guys moved toward us, shuffling feet and swinging arms.
“What the hell is going on?” Scott hollered.
The voice on the phone kept saying my name. “Drea, I need you to tell me what you see. Who is fighting?”
I rocked back and forth, still clutching Naomi’s hand. “They won’t stop. Please make them stop.”
“Do they have weapons?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Kari grabbed the phone from me and started talking about Scott. The guys moved closer. Scott was fighting them to get to Naomi. I braced myself over her, preparing for impact. There was a loud thud. The floor shook beneath my knees. I glanced over to see Scott’s face a couple feet from mine. Justin and Roger pinned him to the ground, both struggling to keep him still.
“The cops are coming too,” Kari said, covering the phone.
“What did she take?” Justin asked Scott.
His face contorted, and his lips trembled. “She did a line before I left, and I took the rest with me. That’s it. She was fine.”
Justin leaned toward Scott’s ear, shoving his face harder into the floor. “What else did she have access to?”
“Nothing!” Scott’s eyes watered. He’d stopped fighting them. “I took everything with me because she doesn’t know when to stop sometimes. She was fine, man. She was fucking fine.”
Kari grabbed the flashlight, illuminating the ground near Naomi’s left hand. “Then what’s on the floor next to her?” she asked. A baggy filled with white powder was spilled a foot away—as if Naomi had dropped it when she fell.
Scott squeezed
his eyes shut. “She must’ve found my stash. It was under the floorboards.”
Kari listened to Naomi’s chest. “I don’t hear anything,” she said into the phone. Mascara streamed down her cheeks. “What are we supposed to do?”
I kept Naomi’s limp hand in mine, telling her to get up. Telling her to fight.
More voices filled the room, and several people rushed at us. They were dressed in dark uniforms and carrying equipment. They yelled at me to move. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t let her go.
The room began to spin. Someone grabbed me from behind, prying my hand from Naomi’s.
“No pulse,” one of the paramedics said.
My head was against Justin’s chest. Police officers stood in front of us. Two of them talked to Scott. He sat on the floor, bawling like a baby. His words were distorted. Nothing made sense.
I tried to pull away, reaching for Naomi. I could see her pale hands between the boots of the paramedics. “She needs me!”
Justin’s breath hit my ear. He kept telling me to calm down—Naomi would fight this.
The paramedics scrambled, shouting things and passing equipment back and forth. One of them pushed on her chest. Justin tightened his grip on me.
Kari’s cries came from somewhere behind us. Roger sat with his face against his knees, his back shaking. Every second crawled by.
They carried Naomi off in a stretcher and loaded her into an ambulance. We followed them outside, but the police wouldn’t let us go. Sirens echoed down the street, taking her away.
The police asked for IDs and kept asking questions. Questions I couldn’t answer. Justin told them we’d found her like this. Over and over. They acted like they didn’t believe him.
Justin was led to a squad car and cuffed. All I could think about was Naomi. How lifeless her face looked.
A female police officer patted me down and shined a light in my eyes. She asked me if I’d smoked or ingested any illegal substances. I told her about my meds.
“What is your diagnosis?” she asked.
“Asperger’s and ADHD.”
She nodded and wrote something on a notepad. “What’s your relationship with Scott Reynolds?”
I scanned the area for him. He was on the ground in cuffs. More paramedics were checking him out. “I don’t have one. He’s Naomi’s boyfriend.”
She asked more of the same questions.
“How many times do you have to ask me? I already told you, goddamnit!”
“You can answer them at the station, if you’d like. Your choice.” Her voice was cold. Didn’t she know that I needed to be with my friend?
“Just answer them, Drea!” Justin called to me. “It’ll be okay.”
I took a deep breath and finished answering her. They pushed Scott into the back of a squad car. Kari and Roger were nearby somewhere. I could hear their voices at least.
Mom appeared at some point. She leaned against her car door, her face crumpled, fingers hovering over her mouth. Grandma stayed inside the car.
They finally let me go, saying they’d call me with more questions. I glanced over at Justin. He didn’t have the cuffs on anymore. His sister was talking to him.
Mom hugged me tight. I tried to tell her what happened. She said she knew and she’d take me to the hospital.
Justin walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I rested my head against his chest, closing my eyes. His heart was still racing.
“Are they letting you go?” I asked.
“Yeah. Do you want me to ride with you to the hospital?”
I nodded, squeezing his hand.
“I’m going to go with them,” he called to his sister.
Grandma glanced at us as we got into Mom’s car. I expected her to start yelling, but she didn’t say a word. Her mouth formed a straight line, and there was something different about her eyes. They were softer somehow.
Naomi’s dad was a crumpled ball outside the hospital entrance. One look at his shaking hands, and I knew. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Mom and Justin moved to either side of me as we approached him. Grandma trailed behind us, still silent.
“Tom?” Mom asked.
Naomi’s father looked up at us with trembling lips. I’d never seen a grown man look so frightened. “She’s gone. My little girl is gone.”
Mom knelt down and put a hand on his back. He buried his face in her shoulder, his entire body shuddering.
Justin wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close.
“What do you mean?” I asked him. “She’s inside. Isn’t she?”
He pulled away from Mom and shook his head at me. “She had a heart attack in the ambulance. They couldn’t”—he sucked in his breath—“they couldn’t revive her.”
I backed away from him, the world blurring around me. “No. Tell them to try again! She can’t be. She can’t.” My breath came out in short bursts.
Strong arms pulled me close, but I shoved them away. Someone screamed. A high-pitched whirlwind in my ears that wouldn’t let up. It was coming from my raw throat.
I collapsed on the cement, and Justin held me tight. His body shook against mine as he rocked me back and forth. Someone with a scratchy ring held my hand. Grandma.
Naomi couldn’t be dead. Not the girl with the big blue eyes and the hearty laugh. Her voice was too strong. She was going places. They must’ve made a mistake. She deserved another chance.
I deserved another chance.
THE SUN BROKE THROUGH the clouds the day of Naomi’s funeral. And the birds chirped. People mowed their lawns and walked their dogs. Like they didn’t know the world had lost someone special.
Naomi made it into the local newspaper yesterday. teen’s death breaks up major drug ring, the headline read. Scott faced many charges, including manslaughter. Justin said he’d probably ratted everyone out within five minutes.
Naomi’s official cause of death was a meth overdose. Justin said a dose that makes one person twitchy can kill another, depending on how their body reacts. Naomi probably didn’t know she’d taken too much.
I scanned the comments on the newspaper’s Web site. Some of the comments were nice, but others were cruel. None of these people knew Naomi, despite what they claimed.
I know the Quinns. Believe me, she comes from a messed-up gene pool. This isn’t surprising in the least.
—R.L.
So Bellingham lost another junkie. How is this newsworthy?
—Anon
Look at it this way. That’s one less shitty driver on the roads. Lord knows we got enough of them.
—Linda M.
What does driving have to do with anything, Linda? Naomi Quinn was the product of bad parenting. Nuff said.
—Anon
I typed my own comment. I wanted them to know that she was a person. Not just some name to trash.
Naomi Quinn befriended me a month ago when no one else would. No questions asked. She told me I was the coolest girl she’d ever met. She told me I was pretty. Things nobody ever said to me before. She had a singing voice that was full of life and passion. A voice that touched anyone privileged enough to hear it. No, she wasn’t what you would call normal or perfect. But who is?
So keep making your ignorant comments. But just remember that Naomi was a real person. And our lives won’t be the same without her.
Grandma made her way down the stairs. She hadn’t said much to me the last few days. Justin and Mom hovered around me practically every minute, asking if I was okay.
“Are you ready to go?’ she asked.
I slumped in my chair. My legs felt like tree trunks. “I’ll never be ready.”
Grandma walked over to my bed and sat down, her eyes combing my face. “I had a brother once. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“His name was Paul. He was drafted in World War Two—got shipped to Japan. I was only four years old when he hugged me good-bye, but I remember everything he was wearing that day. Everything
he said. He gave me his guitar—a Martin—and made me promise I’d play it. Even if he didn’t come back.”
“And he didn’t come back?”
She lowered her eyes to the floor. “No. He was a prisoner of war—almost made it out alive too. But his friend fell during the Bataan Death March. They’d make the soldiers walk for days without food or water and kill anyone who stopped. They caught Paul helping his friend up, and they killed him for it.”
“What happened to his friend?”
“He survived to tell the story. But even at that age, I remember feeling cheated. Paul was only eighteen. He had his whole life ahead of him, and I never got the chance to know him. It’s hard losing anyone, Andrea. And it’s really hard when they go before their time. So in that sense, no, you’ll never be ready. But it does get easier. You get to the point where you have no choice but to pick yourself up by the bootstraps and keep living.”
I couldn’t imagine that. Nothing felt real. I just wanted to wake up and see Naomi standing at the foot of my stairs again. Begging me to check out her drum set.
“Did you play his guitar?”
She smiled. “I did. Even did a little tour around the country with my sister. We dedicated every set to Paul.”
“Do you still have it, the guitar?”
She nodded. “It’s in my room, and you’re welcome to play it anytime you want. But it can’t leave this house. And it needs to be put back in my room whenever you’re done. Right where you found it.”
“Of course.” I studied her face for a few moments. “Did you hate Naomi?”
Grandma frowned and exhaled softly. “No. She was a troubled girl who needed discipline, but I never hated her. We talked a little when she helped me with the garage sale. She was very smart. The kind of person who could do anything if she put her mind to it.”
I looked at my hands. “People are saying horrible things about her online.”
“People will always talk. But you have her memory inside you. They can’t take that away from you.”
But memories fade, I wanted to say. What happens then?
We went back to Justin’s after the funeral. I didn’t know what was worse—the muted sobs or the overpowering scent of roses. They weren’t even yellow roses. I remembered the way Naomi’s eyes lit up when she talked about the yellow tulips Scott gave her. Yellow was her favorite.