Everyone? I can picture Jane up against her locker, screaming at Maisey’s back whenever she’d walk by, “Eek, you guys! I just saw a mouse. Somebody kill it!”
“We’re going to miss her.”
Even the kids that used to sing Maisey Mouse to her in the hallways? The song ribbons through my brain and I can’t stop it before it sashays around in my head. Almost taunting me. C’mon everybody, on one, two, one two three … M-A-I-S-E-Y M-O-U-S-E.
It feels like smoke billows around me, like a cloud trying to suffocate me. Ms. Selinski escorts us to the door and shakes Mom’s hand again. “If either of you need anything, please, please let me know.”
Walking through the main office, things get foggier. I feel like I’m walking through water, but I’m all the way in. Over my head. Immersed in it. Everything is hazy and sounds are faded echoes in my ears. I watch in a daze as Mom signs me out and smiles politely to the staff.
I follow her voice to her car in the parking lot but I can’t make out what she’s saying. The words are so muffled. Is she talking too fast or too slow? I try to focus, and slow down my breath. Maybe I can’t hear her because my heart’s beating so loud in my ear. It’s fast, too fast. It’s moving up in my chest. The ba-dum, ba-dum, bad-dum gets closer and closer together until it catches in my throat and I can’t breathe. Can’t. Breathe. Pushing myself against the car, I grasp the door handle. It’s not opening. I tug harder.
Slow down. Slow down. Stop freaking out. Calm down. Dad isn’t dead. I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine. Aunt Jen is still here. Mom’s okay. C’mon, relax. Count to ten. One, two, three … four … You’re not even friends with her … five … six.
My body sinks to the ground in a heap next to the car. Then Mom’s pulling me into her and cradling my head to her chest. I’m shaking, heaving, and sobbing. The tears pour out of my eyes and my heart is a fist trying to break out of my chest. I’d let it out if I could.
****
Mom backs out of Maisey’s driveway. Even though I’d convinced her I wanted to get it over with, as soon as Mom knocked on the Morgans’ door, I wanted to run. I could literally feel pangs of their torment as I stood next to my own mother in their doorway. The way Maisey’s parents looked at me, stoic, searching, and still in shock.
A scene from Stand By Me flashed through my head. The part where the dad tells Gordy that he wished he would’ve died instead of his older brother. It shoulda been you, Bree. I tried to shake the thought out of my head as soon as it arrived, but it hung around for a few more minutes, taunting me. Maybe Maisey’s parents aren’t in that kind of place. But I am. I feel guilty. Guilty for not being some kind of savior. Like in the movies, the girl who takes the unpopular girl under her wing, gives her a makeover, the one where I’d convinced her to be on Prom Court, and she’d win. Not as a joke, but because everyone would be so amazed at her transformation. She’d stand tall and proud instead of gangly armed and slouchy, her tiny sunken eyes would pop with the right shade of eye shadow and a thick coat of mascara. Instead of laughing when she’d get her crown, everyone would cheer and pat themselves on the back for realizing the errors of their ways. And they all live happily ever after, smiling, shopping. Alive. The End.
Hindsight and regret suck the breath out of me, leaving me empty and motionless.
Mom grips the steering wheel and shakes her head. She mimics my thoughts, “I felt guilty for even standing there, with my daughter. My living daughter.”
I felt it too. Mrs. Morgan was in her own house, but she seemed so lost. It felt so intrusive to show up with nothing to give and asking for a letter I didn’t want. I couldn’t even say I was sorry, because that felt too small. I was squeezing mom’s hand so tight, lest I were to disappear down the same dark hole Maisey did.
My mom, taking her hand off the steering wheel to wipe a tear and pat my leg, asks, once more, if I’m okay.
Silence. I grip the envelope I wish wasn’t addressed to me, haunted by the sad smile her mom had when she said, “She didn’t reach out, but she still wanted to say good-bye. We had no idea she was still hurting.”
I’d sat in their foyer while Maisey’s mom and mine spoke in low hushes in the den. Her dad’s eyes were glossy and vacant, his tie loosened around his neck, his beard the same shade of burnt red as Maisey’s hair.
“Take it easy,” he said, disappearing upstairs with a can of beer.
I strained to hear the conversation I wasn’t asked to join. The details or backstory that Mrs. Morgan assumed I was too young for. Words jumped out of the hushed tones.
Devastated.
Abused.
Prison.
So long ago.
Happy.
Friends.
Released.
We didn’t realize.
My mom’s voice is a little clearer. Her “I’m so sorrys” ended with a trailing off of “If there’s anything I can do.”
Mom pulls me back into the present with a quick pat on my knee. “So, I texted your dad. He’s meeting us at the house.”
“What? Mom, really? Why?”
“This is a big deal, Bree. You were so upset at school that you could barely breathe. You need us. You just lost your friend.”
“Mom, she wasn’t my friend. Don’t you get it? If I was her friend, maybe … maybe …” I trail off. I don’t even know how to finish.
“She had a lot going on, things a kid shouldn’t have to deal with. Whether she was your best friend or your worst enemy, it’s not your fault. Suicide is tragic and hard to comprehend for most people. You’re pretty shaken up and you’ve been going through a lot lately too and I’m sorry. I think I forget sometimes that you’re still a kid too.”
“A kid? Oh God, Mom. Come on. And what’s Dad gonna do? Sit there and lecture me about not calling him? Sounds fun. Thanks.”
She shakes her head as if it’ll shake out whatever thoughts or images are plaguing her, keeping her eyes on the road. “I just don’t ever want anything to happen where … I need you to know no matter what, you can talk to me about anything.”
If only it were that easy. Mom hasn’t even stopped crying yet and is trying to pretend she’s not wiping snot and tears from her face with her sleeve. “I don’t know the plan, but let’s be glad that for once in his life your dad is trying.” She sighs.
I answer with only a sigh to softly mimic hers. The rest of the ride home I think of the places I’d rather be. I’d rather be on the hill, with the sun heating my back. Lying on a blanket at the park by my house, with earphones, listening to music louder than my thoughts. Or at home in bed, wrapped in the blue cornflowers of my comforter. Or kissing Sean again. Or maybe even in my bed kissing Sean again. Anywhere but on my way to talk to my dad about a dead girl from school.
As we drive up to our house, Dad’s truck is parked along the curb. My stomach gets that sinking feeling because Mom was always annoyed when he’d park it there instead of the driveway. She takes a lot of pride in our home, and the loon and lake scene she hand-painted on our mailbox is a big part of that. She touches it up at the beginning of every summer.
“It looks so trashy to have extra vehicles parked along the curb. Besides,” she’d say, “I worked hard on that mailbox, Nicholas. It’s like you’re hiding it.” He’d joke and tell her he was hiding it. But only because he didn’t want anyone to steal it.
“Oh geez. Why is he parking in the street?” Mom asks.
There’s a car in our driveway. Sean’s. My heart skips and then sinks again. I don’t want him to see me after I’ve been crying. Sean’s sitting on our step about a foot away from my dad who’s in his police uniform.
“Mom, look at me. I can’t see him like this.”
“Who? Your dad or Sean?”
“Sean. Do I look crazy?”
Her eyes scan me from hair to my one red and one yellow tennis shoe. “If you want, you can go right in through the garage and I’ll get rid of him. Only if you want. You don’t look terrible but I can tell you’ve been c
rying if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re still cute, though.”
“Thanks Mom.” I flip the sun visor and peek at my reflection. Puffy, blotchy, not great. My eyes flit down to Maisey’s envelope on my lap. I’ve folded it in half so many times that it’s now a fat tiny square. I push it into my back pocket and step out of the car.
My dad and Sean stand up as I walk over.
“Hey kiddo,” Dad says, giving me a big hug.
“Hey Dad.” Trying not to encourage the tears lining back up behind my eyes, I pull away and shrug with a small smile at Sean. “What is this, like a surprise party?”
Sean smiles, “If it’s your birthday, yes. If it’s not, no.”
“A few months early, buddy,” says Dad looking over to Sean.
Mom walks up behind me. “Come on into the house Nick, let’s give them a few minutes to talk.” She smiles at Sean then looks me in the eye. “See you in here in two minutes, all right?”
“Fine. Two minutes.”
Dad shakes Sean’s hand saying it was nice meeting him and follows behind Mom.
Sean rests his hands on my shoulders. “I got worried. I waited by your car after you missed class. No one knew where you were and I kept getting your voicemail.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry, I guess my phone’s off.”
“What’s going on? Are you okay? I’m not going to pretend I didn’t freak out when I saw a cop hanging out in front of your door.”
My lips form a tiny smile. “I guess I never mentioned my dad’s a cop. Was he nice?”
“He had a lot of questions, but he was nice. He said your mom called and asked him to meet you guys here and then he was trying to see what I knew and I didn’t know anything. Nobody knew anything.”
“I’m fine, really,” I insist, gently lifting his hands from my shoulders. I press the pads of my fingers into his palms. Resisting the flame that flickers amidst everything else in my chest, I let them go. “I don’t know, it’s all really overdramatic. My dad called my mom about me not calling him lately so my mom was worried and I guess now because of some other stuff, I guess it’s a good time to talk to him. But I really was going to call him.”
He looks down at me, his mouth the slightest curve away from a frown. “But you’ve been crying? Is that really all that’s wrong?”
Sean stares into my eyes and for a second I don’t know where I am. I have to lower my head because a stupid tear forms in my eye. It falls in slow motion, then hits the top of my sneaker, stretching into a tiny splat against the red canvas making me think of blood. Maisey’s face flashes my brain and there’s a barrage of bad thoughts stacked up, ready to push their way in but I push right back and they disappear.
“Can we talk about it later?” I ask. “I want to talk to you. And I’m sorry, but I should probably deal with the two parents behind door number one.” I half laugh, waving my hand toward the door.
Sean wipes beneath my eye with the edge of his sleeve. He leans in, presses his lips to my forehead, and then my eyelid. I pull back and open my eyes, letting another tear run down my cheek.
“Sorry I’m such a baby,” I say. “I better go. Thanks for coming by and I’m sorry you were worried. Thanks for that.”
“Hey, you’re not a baby. You’ve had a tough day. Text me later, okay?”
I nod and disappear into my house before I start crying again. I take a deep breath and make my way toward Mom’s and Dad’s voices coming from the kitchen. They’re talking about Maisey.
Dad steps away from the table and wraps me in another hug. He speaks a few Spanish words, the way he always has when he’s trying to comfort me. “It’s okay, mi hija. Esta bien, esta bien.” This time I hug him back and my shoulders shake as I release all of the tears I have left.
****
My eyes crack open to bright light and silence. I grab my phone that still hasn’t been turned back on. My cat clock says I’ve slept till 10:23 a.m. but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
When my phone powers on, it immediately buzzes in my hand. Missed calls and texts from Kallie and Sean pop up like reminders of why my head is throbbing. My eyes are pulled to the window, the sun extending its arms, beckoning, promising a new day.
If only the light were enough. My head sinks back into the pillow and I hug another between my knees. I drift back to sleep, waking in and out of dreams of Maisey pulling the mouse out of her desk, and nightmares splattered with dark images of her limp body, skin paled in blues and grays, hanging from a rope in the halls of Belmont High. My classmates hum the Maisey song, pushing her dangling body out of their way as they rush through the halls. My waking moments are no better, taunting me with what the letter I’ve tucked into my pillowcase might say.
I wake again to Mom, calling because the school’s automated system left her a message saying I was absent this morning. Shit. It’s already quarter to twelve.
“I’m tired, my head hurts, but I’m going.”
“You can forget about school if you want. Go back to sleep and I’ll see you when I get home.”
“I don’t know what I want to do,” I say, almost whining.
“Well, it’s up to you,” she says, like it’s no big deal and says good-bye. The consolation that it’s Friday taps my shoulder and reminds me that I’ve made plans with Sean. I look back out the window and the golden rays win, pulling me out of bed.
Fresh out of the shower, jeans from yesterday and a long-sleeved Jane Eyre T-shirt, I sit back on the bed, reach into my pillowcase and pull out the creased and folded white envelope.
Bree Hughes. The hollow echo of her saying my name in the school bathroom replays in my head, like an encore I didn’t ask for. The way she’d said it. Patronizing. The envelope unfolds itself into my hands, as does the letter. Sloppy wispy script, blatantly screaming that she was tired and didn’t care. I unfold it, letting my eyes drift to the top heading and right back off the page. Again, it’s there. Bree Hughes. Like she’s taunting me. My throat gets rushed by my heart, so hard and so rapid that I just can’t. I flip the letter over, refolding it with swift sloppy hands and stuffing it back into the envelope and my pillowcase. I can’t read this right now. Not today. Not when I’m trying to get to school, to walk through the hallways looking like my shit’s so together I can be a fucking Prom Queen.
FIFTEEN
I get to school at lunchtime and everyone is chirping and buzzing with the news of Maisey. I hear snippets of the tragedy passing each lunch table. I can’t even stand in the lunch line without hearing about it.
“It’s crazy. Everyone treated her like ass.”
“At least she’ll go to heaven because all dogs go to heaven.”
“No, dude, she was a mouse. Where the hell do mice go?”
“The moon?”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does, moon’s made of cheese, dipshit.”
I clank my tray back onto the line and shove through the two assholes. “Excuse you.” I grab a bottle of water and walk right to the cashier.
“That’s all you’re getting today?” asks Kendall. “Prom Queen diet, huh?”
“I had a big breakfast.”
“Did you hear what happened?” asks Sam, mouth agape. Kendall leans in, eyes wide, waiting to hear a story she’s obviously heard a hundred times today. “Maisey Morgan committed suicide. Suicide. How sad. Can you believe it?”
I inhale slowly through my nose and as I exhale, I use every ounce of energy I have into fighting the urge to cry. To scream. To run. “Yeah, I can believe it,” I say. “Our class pretty much made her life a living hell. So why not? Maybe she’s in a better place.”
“Well, I’m Christian and I know this sounds wrong, but suicide is a sin. So that means she would be—.”
“Kendall. Don’t even. That is just wrong. You didn’t know her,” Sam says.
“Heaven or hell, either one sounds better than high school. I don’t want to talk about it, okay,” I s
ay. “And none of us knew her, so get over it.”
“Damn,” says Sam holding her hands up. “Sorry.”
“Fine,” says Kendall. “New subject. Bree, what’s up with Prom? You going with us or not? It’s gonna be fun. We’re renting an SUV limo instead of a regular limo. And taking a road trip to Valley Fair the next day, too.”
“Prom: Parties of One is the hottest ticket.” Sam brushes her fingers through the edge of her fro-hawk. “You could even match your corsage to the pink streak I’m putting in my hair. So far we have six of us going … you really should come.”
“Breeeeee!” Someone steps up behind me. “I had no idea. This queen doesn’t have a date?” Justin Conner plants his ass on the seat next to me and hangs his arm on my shoulder. “Neither do I, we should probably go together then.”
“Sounds like a blast.” I pull his hand off my shoulder, dropping it like a dirty pair of underwear. “I think I’ll pass. You have a better chance of getting with Jane. As a matter of fact, I heard she doesn’t have a date either. You should ask her.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I will. Anyway, I was coming over here to see how many haikus are due for Nord’s class. I did three but can’t remember if we’re supposed to have three or four?”
“Haikus today? Oh crap, I forgot. Talk to you guys later.” I grab my water and rush to my locker for a pen and paper. Writing a few haikus is a lot more tolerable than dodging Prom inquisitions and Maisey gossip in the cafeteria.
My eyes stay dry but I bleed my emotions into my haikus. Funneling my feelings onto the paper is the next best thing to skipping the rest of the school day.
When I drop the poems onto Mr. N.’s desk as the bell rings, he hands them right back. “No, you can go ahead and take this to your desk, Ms. Hughes. Unless you have the one you’ll be reading memorized?”
“Oh right,” I say, shaking my head as if I’d just remembered. Like I knew all along we’d be reading them aloud. As if it’s no big deal and I hadn’t made the poems so personal.
Mr. Norderick leans against the whiteboard. “I’m sure everyone’s heard it by now, in the hallways, if not from the morning announcement, but we’ve lost one of––” Mr. N. swallows, clears his throat, and pauses long enough for me to worry that he’s going to cry. “We’ve lost one of our classmates. Miss Morgan was smart, polite, kind, and respectful. It’s a tremendous loss for her family and friends, but for our school as a whole. Whether she was a friend or not, I offer my own condolences, and if anyone needs anything let me know. I also hope her loss is one that’ll remind us to reach out to our friends and family in uncertain times.”
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 11