Thankfully, Dad had a long talk with my form head and Mrs Ottawa, so that when I went back to St Seb's, everyone pretty much left me alone. It was a massive relief. I couldn't have handled it if everyone at school had treated me like a hero, too.
Instead, when I walked in on my first day back, I saw a tall blond girl and a short dark-haired one waiting by the trophy case. And it was almost like none of it had ever happened.
I hesitated, and then walked over to them. Jo touched my arm, smiling uncertainly. ‘Ems, are you OK?’
I lowered my bag to the floor, engrossing myself with pushing it flush against the wall. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘It's so … so amazing what you did,’ said Debbie. ‘You and that boy, John.’
I saw Abby's knapsack again, lying on the cold, hard concrete. I folded my arms over my chest. ‘He's, um … called Ski. And – look, not to be rude, but I don't want to talk about it, OK?’
A steady stream of people passed by the trophy case as they came into school, staring at us and then quickly away. Debbie tossed her dark, wavy hair. ‘Fine. Anyway, we've got a bone to pick with you.’
‘Yeah.’ Jo's gaze narrowed a bit.
I stared at them both, blood hammering at my temples. Freak. Freak. This was it, they were going to say it, they were going to tell everyone.
And suddenly I realized that I didn't care if they did. I didn't care. Glorious freedom swooped through me. It wasn't just that I had Sheila and Ski and the others for friends now – I just didn't care, full stop. No one could ever make me feel like a freak again. Not ever.
I lifted my chin. ‘What bone?’
Jo tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. ‘Listen, you, why didn't you tell us that Karen Stipp's a total bitch?’
Eh? My mouth dropped open. ‘But you – you liked her so much in the café, and you've been texting her – I heard you texting her, talking about pretty freaky !’
Jo's expression melted. ‘Oh, Ems … We were just responding to something she said! That was before she told us what it actually meant.’
Debbie's eyes snapped angrily. ‘Yeah, she said some really awful things, Ems.’
I was silent for a minute. ‘But … what if everything she said was true?’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Debbie.
I lifted my chin. ‘Well, what if that thing really did happen in the changing rooms – I'm sure she told you about that little incident, right? – and what if everyone did call me a freak, and totally shunned me, and—’
Jo shook her head impatiently. ‘I didn't say we didn't believe her, just that she's an utter bitch! God, the way she treated you at Balden – and then to laugh about it to us, like we'd think she was really clever or something!’ She shuddered.
Tears jumped to my eyes. ‘I thought—’
‘You thought we'd dump you if we knew,’ said Debbie in a low voice. ‘Ems, how could you? We're your friends.’
‘But you didn't even notice how upset I was at the café! Why didn't—’
‘Ems, of course we noticed!’ Jo looked shocked. ‘Only we thought it was Abby you were upset about; we couldn't figure out what we had done!’
‘No offence, but we can't read your mind,’ said Debbie. ‘You were nice to Karen; how were we supposed to know?’
I looked at the gleaming rows of trophies in the case, and then back at them. ‘OK … but what if my Darth Vader clock isn't post-ironic? And what if I like shopping in the Dungeon, and – and all sorts of stuff that I was too embarrassed to tell you about?’
Debbie propped a shoulder against the wall. ‘You mean all that fantasy stuff that Karen said? It's no big deal, Ems. I mean, I like to sew; that's hardly the epitome of cool.’
‘Hey, we don't care if you're weird,’ laughed Jo. ‘We just want you to talk to us again.’
‘Yeah, and besides, you still have to help me win the fashion contest,’ said Debbie with a grin. ‘Don't think you get out of it that easily.’
I did start to cry then, even though I felt so stupid doing it – in the middle of the foyer, with everyone watching! The three of us hugged each other, laughing.
I thought fleetingly of Karen, and almost felt sorry for her.
Not quite, though.
I rang Mum the day after we found Abby. This time I was going to forget about being polite or shy or whatever, and just tell her to come – but I didn't have to say anything at all once she heard what had happened. She started to cry, and said that she'd book a flight that same day.
Jenny and I went to meet her at the airport a few days later. We waited with the rest of the crowd behind the railings, and finally Mum emerged after getting through customs, looking slightly bedraggled from the flight and wheeling her black suitcase behind her. She dropped it when she saw me, and we hugged for a long time.
When she stepped back from me, she said, ‘Emma, you've grown …’
I wiped my eyes, laughing. ‘I'm the same height as I was!’
She smiled. Her own eyes were bright. ‘Yes, I suppose you are. But you've grown just the same, haven't you?’
At the inquest, the pathologist testified that Abby had died instantly when she fell, hitting her head against a gasket on one of the pipes. ‘She probably literally never knew what happened; she wouldn't have felt any pain.’ He was a dark-skinned man with thick black hair, and kind eyes.
His gaze rested briefly on Abby's parents, who sat together in the front row, holding hands. ‘I can assure you that from the head wound she sustained,’ he repeated softly. ‘Death would have been instantaneous, with no pain.’
Watching from where I sat between Mum and Dad, I saw Abby's mother let out a shaking breath, closing her eyes. Mr Ryzner put his arm around her, hugging her against him.
Ski and I both had to testify, too. I saw him sitting with his mother across the courtroom, looking totally unlike himself in a pair of dress trousers and a white button-down shirt. As the coroner called my name, he caught my eye and gave me a tiny smile.
I was terrified that I'd break down and sob, or garble the details or something, but it was all right. I kept my gaze on my parents as I answered the coroner's questions, and their eyes encouraged me as I explained how I had known about the tunnel, and what made me realize Abby might have gone there.
I didn't mention anything about the dream, though, with Abby standing in the glade of sunshine. Or the dragon. They were too private, nothing to do with anyone but me.
After everyone had testified, the coroner gave his verdict: death by accident or misadventure. Misadventure. What a stupid word, like she just barely missed having loads of fun.
But at least it was over. The courtroom filled with rustling and talking as everyone stood up, starting to file out.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said to Mum. ‘I just—’ I swallowed. ‘I want to say something to Mr and Mrs Ryzner.’
They stood talking with some of their neighbours who had come. I went up and touched Mrs Ryzner's arm. A cascade of emotions flowed over her plump face as she turned and saw me. ‘Emma …’
‘Mrs Ryzner, I just wanted to say – that I'm sorry.’ I gripped my handbag, digging my fingers into the leather. ‘I mean, sorry that I stopped being Abby's friend. I was stupid, and – and I really miss her.’
Her face startled to crumple as I spoke, and suddenly she was hugging me. I clutched her tightly, breathing in the smell of her linen blazer.
‘Oh, Emma, darling, don't apologize … I know you always loved her, deep down. And – how can we thank you for finding her?’ She dabbed a tissue against her eyes. ‘What we imagined was so very much worse.’
Ducking her head down, she put the tissue away in her handbag. When her eyes met mine again, she tried to smile. ‘Emma … I wonder if you'd say a few words at Abby's funeral?’
And though my throat was like sandpaper, I felt a tendril of warmth spread through me.
‘I'll try,’ I whispered.
A few days before Abby's funeral, I sat at my desk, str
uggling to write. I had already scratched out pages of clumsy attempts, and the one I was working on now didn't seem much better. I didn't even know what I wanted to say. I slumped on my hand, staring down at the messy scribbles on the page.
My thoughts drifted to Ski. We were planning on going to the park the Saturday after Abby's funeral with Sheila and the others, to plant an oak tree in her name. And he wanted to take me to a movie next week – there was a new science-fiction film that we bothwanted to see. Smiling slightly, I doodled the planet Saturn with a spaceship flying past it.
Behind me, Nat sat on my bed, looking through the D&D book and whispering a story to herself. A cast encased her broken arm, covered in colourful grafitti.
‘Emma, can we play Esmerelda later?’
My shoulders tensed. I never wanted to play that game again.
‘No … No, I think Esmerelda is gone now, Nat. But we'll play a new game, OK? You can make it up yourself, and tell it to me.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘And we'll both play it?’
‘Sure.’
Dad came in then, leaning against the doorway. ‘Nat, go help Mummy in the kitchen, would you? I want to talk to Emma for a minute.’
She bounced off the bed. ‘Emma, can it be about bears? Wizard bears?’
I grinned at her. ‘Wizard bears sound seriously cool.’
As Nat skipped out, Dad came in and stood beside me. And just as I glanced up at him, he gently laid my blue-jean patterned notebook on the desk.
I gaped at it, and then up at him.
He sat down on the edge of the desk, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Emma, I have to confess … when you were gone that Saturday, and we didn't know where you were, Jenny and I searched your room to see if we could get any sort of clue. And I found this.’
‘Did you read it?’ I pulled it towards me defensively.
Dad nodded. ‘I'm sorry. I thought – I don't know what I thought. That you were getting involved in something bad, or – I don't know.’
‘I wrote this two years ago!’
He looked sheepish. ‘I figured that out after I read a bit, and to tell you the truth, I would have put it back sooner, except—’ he smiled. ‘Well, I got too interested in the story to put it back.’
I couldn't speak for a minute. ‘What – really?’ ‘Yes, really. I had no idea you were so talented – that you have such an amazing imagination.’ Heat crept up my face. ‘It wasn't all me. Abby and I both thought up the story.’
‘But you're the one who put the words on the page. You have a real way with words, Emma. I felt like I was part of the story.’
‘So you don't think I'm odd ?’ It was out before I could stop myself.
‘Wha-at?’ Dad's eyebrows shot up. ‘Emma, of course not! You like a lot of things that I don't necessarily like—’ he motioned around my room, which now had some of its starship and fantasy posters reinstated (along with gorgeous Becks, of course) – ‘but that's just you, isn't it? And I'm very proud of who you are.’
‘So … um, what about counselling, then?’
Dad smiled ruefully, and rubbed at the dark stubble on his chin. ‘Well, I think what I said in the first place was good advice, actually, if I had just followed it myself … we should be OK so long as we talk to each other. Only this time, I promise that I'll listen to you more. How does that sound?’
A warm glow filled my chest. ‘It sounds good,’ I whispered.
Looking almost as embarrassed as I felt, Dad cleared his throat and motioned to my scribbled sheets of paper. ‘Anyway, how's it going?’
I showed him all the scratched-over bits. ‘I can't work out what I want to say, or how to say it.’
He squeezed my shoulder. ‘Just tell them about Abby.’
As I stood at the lectern, I pressed my hands against it to keep them from trembling. The scent of flowers filled the air. The church was a solid sea of faces, all turned up towards me, waiting.
I licked my lips, and started to read.
‘I want to tell you about a girl called Abby. She was my best friend for most of my life, and I had some really wonderful times with her …’
I spiralled back to the very beginning and told them about Esmerelda, and being novice sorcerers together. About laughing in the Wendy House in her back garden, and teasing her twin brothers until they ran in to tell her mum. About spending the night at her house and inventing perfect worlds where unicorns could swim in the sea.
About being friends.
‘Abby believed in magic.’ I gripped the paper as my voice echoed through the church, amplified through the microphone. ‘She taught me to believe in it, too. Even though she's gone, that part of her will always be with me. And I'll always remember her for that.’
I could hear people crying as I finished reading. I wiped my eyes with a tissue, and said, ‘Thank you for letting me tell you about her.’
I went back to my seat, where Mum, Dad and Jenny were waiting for me, and cried for the rest of the service.
After the funeral, I tried to give Mrs Ryzner back the dragon I had taken, but she wouldn't let me. ‘You keep it, Emma.’ She closed my fingers around it. ‘It can help you keep hold of that magic you talked about.’
So it sits on my bedside table now, the last gift I ever got from Abby.
Except that wasn't true. She had given me myself. I knew now that I wasn't just Emma, or Ems – they were both a part of me. Ems with her streaked hair and trendy clothes. Emma's dreaminess, her writing and pretend games. The way Ems managed to laugh at everything, and be popular. They were both me.
I touched the dragon, tracing the coil of its serpentine neck.
‘Thanks, mate,’ I whispered.
CHILD X
by Lee Weatherly
Things are looking up for Jules. She's still passing notes to her best friend, Marty, in boring lessons at school, and ignoring the repulsive Adrian Benton, but she's also about to audition for the main part in the play Northern Lights. Then her world explodes. Her perfectly lovely dad suddenly leaves home and won't respond to her phone messages. Soon strange photographers start leaping out from behind bushes to take her photo. Something big is going on, and everyone seems to know what it is—except Jules.
*“Compelling, heartfelt … totally believable. [A] gripping tale.” —Voice of Youth Advocates, Starred
Published by Laurel-Leaf
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If the
book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as
“unsold or destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may
have received payment for it.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2004 by Lee Weatherly
Cover illustration copyright © 2004 by Tracey Hurst and Jerry Paris
All rights reserved.
Laurel-Leaf and colophon are registered trademarks of
Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com/teens
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www.randomhouse.com/teachers
RL: 7.0
eISBN: 978-0-307-53845-1
November 2006
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