The Delusion

by Laura Gallier

  “Move!” I pushed past him, nearly knocking him over.

  “Child of Satan! Judgment is coming!”

  I wanted to unleash my own judgment, but an out-of-breath police officer got ahold of the kook, gripping his arm and knocking his pathetic sign to the ground. “Time to go,” the cop said. “You’re not allowed on school property.”

  The man flailed his arms and yelled something about the First Amendment, but the officer yanked harder, forcing him away. Finally, some justice.

  I lost sight of Ashlyn but caught up with Stella Murphy and some guy as I sloshed through puddles, drenching the bottom half of my jeans. “Who was it?”

  “Don’t know yet.” The guy sipped some Coke through a curvy straw. “But I heard it was a girl. Alcohol and sleeping pills.”

  I strained to breathe.

  “Either of you guys seen Jess?” My voiced cracked.

  Stella painted on lip gloss. “No.”

  Coke Sipper shook his head.

  I took off toward the school. I had no idea where to look for her, but I wasn’t just going to stand around. I was nearing the entrance doors when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and my world was bearable again.

  Jess.

  I hugged her as tight as I could, almost suffocating us both. “Where were you?” I was panting like I’d just run a marathon. She clung so hard to my shoulders that her feet came off the ground. Finally we let go.

  “I told you I had tutorials this morning, remember?”

  She hadn’t told me, but I had no desire to try and prove her wrong. “I saw your car in the garage and I thought . . .”

  “I had my mom drive me.” She pulled me close again. “That way I can ride home with you.”

  “That’s what I thought. I just . . . Never mind.”

  I rested my chin on top of her head, holding her umbrella over us as the morbid images I’d had of her surrendered to peace of mind.

  Stella caught up with us and wedged herself under our umbrella. “It was Emma Lancaster.”

  “Emma is number twelve?” Jess’s lips quivered. “She—she’s in my third-period class.”

  Stella’s eyes narrowed and she leaned even closer. “She was in your third-period class.”

  Jess’s chin dropped and her shoulders slumped. I felt like I was watching her sink into an emotional pit—the same hole I’d been trying to pull her out of for about a week.

  So much for peace of mind.

  Suddenly some man was there, holding out a microphone, motioning to us from the curb. The light on the TV camera made us all squint.

  Great. The last thing we needed was a nosy reporter butting into our lives.

  “Tell me, any of you know Emma? Did you know she was having suicidal thoughts?”

  “Um, I knew her,” Jess said, “but—I mean—I didn’t . . .”

  “I knew her super well.” Stella grinned like a pageant girl. “She seemed, like, a little down the last few weeks, but we’re all kind of down, ya know?”

  There was no disguising her excitement at appearing on TV. “How’s my hair?” she whispered to Jess.

  “Disgusting.”

  “Really?” Stella fluffed her long hair with both hands.

  “I was talking about you. Your hair looks fine.”

  Typical Jess. No filter whatsoever.

  “Uh, we should go.” I grabbed Jess’s hand, and we turned our backs on Stella and headed toward the school. I knew already not to press too hard trying to cheer Jess up. Still, I held out hope that we could get through another depressing school day, then put the stress and sadness behind us. I would’ve really liked to put the whole school year behind us, but with graduation more than two months away, the only option was to tough it out.

  I knew I had what it took. But Jess?

  We were almost inside when she dropped my hand and stopped walking.

  I turned to her. “You okay?”

  She stared up at me, exhaustion weighing on her flawless face. “I don’t think I can take this anymore, Owen.”

  A voice came from behind us: “What do you mean by that, Jess Thompson?”

  Uh-oh. Principal Harding had appeared out of nowhere, looking pitiful—swollen eyes, soggy hair, splattered rain boots. “I’m arranging for you to meet with a counselor today.”

  “But I don’t need to—”

  “It’s not up for debate, Miss Thompson.” Harding pulled a pink slip and a pen from her raincoat.

  Jess huffed. “Uh, you can take that paper and—”

  “Of course she’ll go, Ms. Harding.” I made wide eyes at Jess. She rolled hers, but a second later, she flashed a small grin at me. I smiled back. And winked.

  “Teacher’s pet,” she whispered in my ear, before taking the slip from Ms. Harding like an obedient child. She gave me a bigger grin. Maybe I actually had managed to cheer her up.

  I’d at least managed to keep her from getting detention.

  The walk to Jess’s first-period class was gloomy. Most students were moving like zombies. A few hugged. Others zoned out, blocking everything with earphones.

  My favorite teacher at Masonville High, Ms. Barnett, stood in the hallway smiling at everyone. Guess it was her attempt at spreading some joy.

  We needed it. Seriously.

  It’s hard to say whose fault it was, but as we neared Jess’s classroom, she and a blonde girl majorly collided. Jess managed to hold on to her purse and backpack, but the other girl’s stuff flew everywhere.

  “Really?” Jess tiptoed over the mess.

  “I—I didn’t see you.” The soft-spoken girl looked up but for less than a second. She dropped to the floor and started grabbing things.

  “It’s fine,” Jess said, without even looking at the girl. “Let’s go.” She pulled me toward her classroom.

  “Wait.” I bent down and grabbed a notebook and a few markers. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  I couldn’t tell if the girl’s cheeks were always that pink or if she was embarrassed. And I couldn’t remember her name—she’d been assigned to show me around the school on my first day, but I’d hardly seen her since.

  “Sorry.” I handed her another marker off the floor and nodded toward Jess. “She’s been stressed lately.”

  “Um, yeah.” The girl zipped her pencil bag. “She’s been stressed since kindergarten.”

  I grinned and snorted—I couldn’t help it.

  “What did you say?” Jess stepped toward the girl.

  She opened her mouth, but then turned and walked off.

  Jess huffed. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Easy, babe.” I put my arm around her. “Save some attitude for the counselor.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  I kind of thought it was, but I said sorry anyway. We hugged, then she went to class.

  On the way to my classroom, I noticed two stern-looking men wearing rubber gloves rummaging through a locker down the row from mine. It had belonged to Emma Lancaster. Number twelve.

  I hadn’t been friends with her—couldn’t even picture her face—but it still made me queasy to think that we must have walked past each other almost every day.

  What could have been so bad about her life that she saw death as the only way out? I mean, my home life had to be as bad as anyone’s, if not seriously worse, and I managed to keep it together.

  I made it to first period before the bell, but I doubt my teacher would have marked me tardy anyway—not when news of another suicide had just hit. My friend Lance came up next to me, his girlfriend glued to his side. “Number twelve, dude.” He ran his hands through his wavy blond hair, then shook his head.

  “I know. This school year can’t end fast enough.”

  I’d met Lance my first week at Masonville. He liked motorcycles as much as I did, but when I found out he was a Red Sox fan, I knew we’d be good friends.

  I sat at my desk and stared at the Smart Board but didn’t read it—just thought about how another student wa
s dead. Gone forever.

  And ever.

  At least I didn’t know her, so I didn’t have to go to her funeral.

  Two rows away from me was a vacant seat that, just a month ago, had belonged to Brady Hopkins—a popular guy who’d put his father’s gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. I closed my eyes, but that only made it worse, the image of his empty chair cemented in my mind.

  I hated that chair. Why didn’t someone just sit in it? Instead it sat there, cold and lifeless, like Brady—a constant reminder that few things in life are as permanent as death.

  As usual, Principal Harding made an announcement encouraging students suffering grief over today’s loss to go to the office and meet with a counselor. Also as usual, the guy next to me talked over the announcement, bragging about everything from what size buck he’d shot over the weekend to how fast he’d driven his dad’s Ferrari last night down a two-lane highway.

  Who hands their kid the keys to their Ferrari?

  I pretty much got along with everyone, except this guy—Dan. He was Jess’s ex-boyfriend, but he couldn’t seem to get the ex part through his head. He wanted her back bad, so of course, he hated me.

  “Hey, Owen.” Dan talked loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your dad ever take you hunting?”

  He knew it was just my mom and me. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes at him, ready to fire back, but our teacher stood front and center and told us to get our laptops out. She was looking right at me.

  That was the last complete sentence she said all period.

  The suicides were hard on us students, but even more draining on the teachers. I was told the first death back in September, when the school first opened, had been considered an isolated incident, but now? Suicide had become more like a plague. Or like some sadistic lottery—any minute another student’s number would be up.

  My third-period teacher had us move our desks into a circle, then take turns sharing our opinions about why the suicides were happening. As usual, it was hard to get anyone to talk, and the ones who did had lame theories.

  One guy actually suggested it might have something to do with global warming. I sighed really loud.

  Lance and I were the first ones to make it to our lunch table. I intentionally sat with my back to the window. Outside was the morbid “Rest in Peace” fence, a makeshift memorial to the suicide victims. The chain links were covered top to bottom with balloons, stuffed animals, notes—whatever people could make stick. And there were photos of each suicide victim hung in chronological order according to their last day on earth. Jess always sat next to me, and I didn’t want her having to stare at that.

  Lance looked at me with a sneaky grin. “You ask Jess to prom yet?”

  Talking about stuff like that helped our school day feel normal.

  “Yeah.”

  “Dang!” He pounded his fist on the table. “You beat me to it.”

  Yeah, right. Lance wasn’t the type to move in on his friend’s girl. And anyway, he and Meagan had been together for two years. I liked Meagan, but it got a little old the way they spent every second together. Lance and I had hardly been able to hang out, just the two of us.

  “Can I ask you something?” I leaned across the table. “How’s Meagan doing, you know, with the suicides?”

  “Fine.” He sipped his Dr Pepper. “She’s good. Why?”

  “Jess is getting—I don’t know. Down, I guess.”

  “Yeah, Meagan’s been worried about her.”

  “Really?” So it wasn’t just me.

  After school, I sat on my motorcycle and waited for Jess. Most of the protesters were gone by then, but a few lingered in a nearby intersection. An Asian man rang a tarnished bell. He wore a sign that said, “Do you hear death?”

  Um, no.

  A guy who looked like he’d quit his job with a traveling carnival stood across the street selling T-shirts that said, “I survived a semester at Masonville High.” Even I knew that was tasteless.

  I looked out at the untouched land that surrounded the school—tall grass framed by dense woods. It belonged to me, over a thousand acres—part of the inheritance from my grandparents. The plan was to sell it along with the house, but my mom had yet to take initiative to call a real estate agent. Or to make any improvements on the house.

  As Jess walked up, I noticed how gorgeous she looked, even in a plain T-shirt—her sun-glossed skin practically begging me to touch it. The holes in her high-dollar jeans were a major dress code violation, but I guess the teachers had given up on getting her to comply.

  I got my keys out. “So, how’d it go with the counselor?”

  She sighed. “Awesome.”

  Ah. The one-word answer thing. I didn’t like it, but I kept trying. “You feeling better?”

  She climbed on my bike and wrapped her arms around me. It felt good. Really good.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Owen.”

  “The counselor taught you to read minds?” My stab at comic relief fell flat.

  “You think I’m gonna get depressed and go off and—”

  “Shut up, Jess!”

  She leaned to the side and glared at me.

  I didn’t mean to yell at her, but I didn’t feel like apologizing, either. She’d never once apologized to me. But more than that, I meant what I’d said. I was sick of talking about death. Sick of dreary moods and sulky conversations. And I didn’t want to hear the word suicide one more time.

  I started my bike, and an idea came to me.

  Once we got past the parking lot traffic, I sped down the side street beside the school, but instead of heading toward Jess’s neighborhood, I veered off the road onto the uncut grass. I made a sharp turn down a dirt trail and drove fast, snaking through forty-foot pine trees. Technically my trees, on my property.

  The rumble of my motorcycle sent birds into flight. Jess squeezed tighter. I couldn’t see her smiling, but I knew she was.

  Surrounded entirely by woods now, I slid to a stop. I’d barely parked my bike when Jess jumped down and took off running like a track star, giggling, darting down a slippery hillside. I laughed and chased after her.

  Mud flung from her ankle boots and hit me in the chest. I resisted the urge to pass her, and let her lead the way to what was becoming our spot in the woods—a patch of rocks peeking out from the brush under a tight cluster of towering trees. This is where we came on days like today, when the world was closing in and suffocating us.

  I love that feeling of being out of breath but unable to wipe the grin off my face. We collapsed on the rocks, knowing any second the moisture would seep through our clothes. Jess crossed her arms over her bent knees and sucked in air. I did the same.

  Other than an occasional bird chirp, the only sound was our heavy breathing. Slowly, I caught my breath. The stampede in my heart became a mild thump, and my arms and legs started to relax.

  “You hear from any universities?” Jess gripped my hand.

  “Stanford is a no.”

  “Really?” She sounded more relieved than concerned. “Boston College?”

  I stared at the dirt. “Nah, not yet.” I was sure that, had I told her the truth, it would have just made her sad.

  “Your grades are awesome, Owen. I know you’ll get in.” She gazed above my head. “I have no clue what I’m gonna do. But I have to get out of my house—out of this jacked-up town.”

  Jess was smart, but she pretty much blew off school, so there weren’t many options for her now.

  She dropped her chin. “My dad is really disappointed. All my cousins are at Ivy League schools.”

  I reached over and ran my fingers through her silky, chocolate-brown hair, then rubbed my hand across her shoulders. I made my way to the back of her neck, thinking maybe I could massage away some of her stress.

  “Things will work out,” I said.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure where she’d end up, and I was even less sure what would become of us. As much as we liked each other, our future was
as clear as the mud caked on our shoes.

  Jess looked me in the face. “Owen, do you ever feel, like, depressed sometimes?”

  Ugh. I’d brought her here to get away from depression, not talk about it. But there was no way I was going to tell her to shut up twice in one day. I’m not that stupid.

  She turned to face me. “There’s this heavy feeling that weighs down on me sometimes, almost like it’s pressing on my chest or something. Like this—” She swallowed hard. “Like this misery that creeps up all of a sudden. Do you know what I mean?”

  Yet another drastic mood change. I felt like I was swinging at a curveball I never saw coming. “Is it like—a sad feeling?”

  She picked up a rock and threw it, visibly disappointed that I couldn’t relate. “It’s more than feeling down. It’s like this awful emptiness drops over me for no reason at all. It happens during random times at school or when I’m alone in my room. Do you ever feel that?”

  “Feelings are overrated, Jess. I live by what I know. The facts.”

  “It’s like this eerie unhappiness that follows me around.” Clearly, she’d given no thought to what I’d just said. “And even though I try super hard to ignore it, it finds me. Especially when I lie down to sleep. It’s like turning the light off signals this miserable feeling to seek me out. And I wonder if that’s what happened to Brady Hopkins and Emma Lancaster and the others. Were they so smothered by this feeling that they decided to end it all?”

  I was at a loss. And more worried than ever about Jess.

  She scooted closer to me. “This girl today was talking about how Emma said she heard voices. And now she’s number twelve. Crazy, huh?”

  “They make meds for stuff like that, Jess.” I cupped her face and lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Promise me that no matter what you’re feeling—no matter what’s going through your head—you won’t do something stupid. Something permanent. ’Cause if you did, I—”

  “Shh!” She slapped her palm over my mouth. It hurt, but I didn’t let her know it.

  “You hear that?” Her eyes darted in one direction, then another, while the rest of her body stayed frozen. “There’s something here.”