I walk out the school’s doors the same way I’d come in. Just me. There’s a figure waiting by my car. I squint under the bright lights of the parking lot. Sean. I squeeze the bag tighter under my arm, lift my dress slightly and pick up my pace. My clutch purse smacks my hip with each stride. And then I don’t care anymore so I run. At least this time I’m not running away.
Sean’s lips curve into a smile. “Hey, Prom Queen.”
“Hey,” I say trying to catch my breath.
“So, I know it’s last minute and everything but I was hoping you’d have room in your car. Maybe I could get a ride?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. I try to hold back a grin as I click the doors unlocked.
Sean lifts the keys from my hand. “Can you wait a second?”
“Okay,” I say as he leans into the driver’s side and starts my car.
Armies of butterfly wings flutter in my chest as he turns the volume up on my radio. A song I’ve never heard hits the air and even though I don’t know the words, they’re beautiful, romantic, and absolutely perfect.
Sean grabs Anne and Tera’s shopping bag and my purse, tosses them into the car and pulls me into his arms. “Got your note. I missed you too.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I reach up and wipe a smudge of blood from his cheek.
“Me too.” He looks me in the eyes and there’s a silver blur of myself shimmering in his.
I feel myself drowning deeper into his eyes more than I ever have before. My chest swells with relief, and a million tiny shards of emotion I can’t name. The fabric of his tux brushing against me and the smell of sandalwood from his collar raise the hairs on my arms. I shiver myself closer into his chest.
Sean’s hand brushes over my hair and across my jawline, cupping my chin. His lips part. “I love you like crazy.”
“I love you like crazy too.” I push my lips onto his and I’m warm, enveloped in him, in us, and in the feeling that everything is right.
Our kiss deepens and lasts until his lips move from my mouth to my ear.
He whispers, “How about that last dance?”
EPILOGUE
With the early morning sun lighting my way, I step through a maze of tombstones and markers to find her gravesite. I kneel, laying my purse down and arranging the yellow roses above the inscription on the grave marker. My finger traces the grooves in the cement that spell out her name. May Louise Morgan. I close my eyes.
It’s too late but now I know you—better than you did. Because you thought you couldn’t make it. I say you could have. You would’ve made it. You made it through so much already. You were a survivor. You were surviving. That means something. You only had a couple months to get out of here. You could’ve moved far away. You would’ve gone to college or not gone, you could’ve done whatever you wanted to do, Maisey. Become some great teacher or writer or lawyer. Anything. Met someone who didn’t know you from Belmont High, someone who’d never believe that once upon a high school, people used to treat you like shit. And maybe some day you would’ve told your story to girls like you, like Jane, and girls like me. And not everyone would’ve listened. But some would’ve. You would’ve made a difference.
I’m sorry.
My eyes open and tears fall onto her grave marker. I see her face again. This time her eyes don’t look so empty. I open my purse and spill its contents onto the stone. I unfold her letter and place it next to the flowers. Chunks and specks of gold crown, broken red and purple gemstone glisten over the stone beneath my knees. I brush and wave my hand over the shimmery pieces, scattering them across her name. The sun’s rays heat my scalp and shine off the crown pieces.
Maisey’s not here to tell her story, but that’s where I come in. I won’t forget her. I have to remember her story. So maybe someday it will reach someone. And it will be enough.
Maisey’s Letter to Bree
Bree Hughes,
You’re probably wondering what I’m doing writing you this letter. You’re reading this because I’m gone. No longer here. Passed Away. Offed. Dead. Suicided.
Before I decided to do this, I wondered what everyone would think. I ran through everyone. People that cared, or tried to care about me, and people that cared about making me feel like a piece of shit every day I went to school. None of you know me. At all. You only know what I am on the outside. Too quiet, too skinny, too clumsy. Too ugly. A loser. I thought about all the people who never let me forget any of those things. What will they do now? Then, because of what happened last week in the bathroom and the library, I thought about you, where you fit into that. I don’t owe you an apology, but I think it’s only fair to give you an explanation. Two reasons. One is that I’m not a total bitch. I’m not trying to leave certain people thinking it was all their fault. The other reason is pride. School has been hard for me and everyone sucks. But still, I’d hate for people to think that they were the number one reason for me ditching life. Here’s the deal: I’m sorry if I didn’t accept your apology but at that point, my decision had already been made. I didn’t want anyone or anything messing with my head.
There’s one person at school who knows how shitty things are and never once tried to make it better. She went out of her way to make sure I’d never forget what a loser I am for ruining her fake perfect life. I’m sure you don’t know this, but Jane is my cousin. We were best friends until we were six. That’s when everything went to shit. Her dad is a monster and I can only imagine how different my life would’ve been without him ruining me, erasing me with his hands, and asking me to keep his secrets. After a while I did tell someone. I told Jane but she said we couldn’t tell anyone or we’d all be in trouble. She told me to wait and we’d run away. But after another year of just plans, I couldn’t wait anymore, I told my parents that he’d been sexually abusing me and he got locked up. I never saw Jane again except in school. She made it clear where she stood. She blamed and hated me. She didn’t even need to threaten me not to tell anyone else about what her dad did. I haven’t said a word about it since the day I told my parents and an officer at the police station. But last month, her dad got out of prison. I can barely breathe knowing he’s not locked away anymore. I’m tired of feeling cold, and damaged, and invisible. It’s not going away and knowing that he gets to walk free and start a new life has chipped away at whatever was left of me. He gets to walk around living his life like he didn’t ruin mine. He’s trying to apologize to me and my family and we don’t want anything to do with him. I can’t talk to anyone about this. I don’t talk to my parents. My friends don’t even know yet. When you saw me and Jane at the library, she had asked if I was going to be okay. Bullshit. I told her to tell her dad to leave my family alone. It’s too late to apologize. She doesn’t care about me, she only cares about people finding out. I hate our school and I hate all the people in it. I don’t know if Jane or anyone will feel bad once I’m gone, but they won’t have me to bully anymore.
You’re the only one in our class who ever apologized. I was really mad at the time, but I’m glad you said something. I wish you would’ve a long time ago. The day you apologized I wished I could be like you, because you’re different and people still care about you. I was nominated as a joke. As much as I wanted to daydream about Prom being this big deal and me being able to feel special, it’s impossible. Because of everything. How they think of me, and how I feel about myself. As long as I’m here, no one’s going to change their mind about me. No way. And I can’t either. Please don’t forget about me on Prom Night. Prom Queen stuff is kind of a joke, but if it means anything, I hope you win. If it has to be someone, I hope it’s you. They’re all bitches. If you get the chance, please make sure you tell them. You owe me that much.
Tell them I said this: they’re all a bunch of assholes. Wherever I am right now, you can bet that I am no longer worried about feeling like shit and going to school and feeling even shittier. I hope everyone has a great time at the Prom but it won’t be at my expense. To anyone that ha
s ever felt like a loser: sad, damaged, shitty, ugly, small, invisible, or lonely, I’m sorry. It was really bad for me but just because I didn’t fight anymore doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. I hope you dance tonight. Dance like no one is watching. I’m going to be okay now. I’m dancing too, and this time no one is laughing.
Forever,
Maisey
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The scars left behind do not define me. If you’ve been a victim of sexual abuse, sexual assault, rape, or any type of sexual trauma, tell someone. It is never too late. Telling someone was the most freeing thing I’ve done in my life. The next most important step is reaching out or accepting help in order to heal and manage the feelings that abuse leaves behind. You are not damaged. The abuse does not define you. You are worth so much more than the pain you’ve endured.
Depression and thoughts of self-harm are serious. The best thing to do when you feel like there’s no way out, is to reach out. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak or a burden, it makes you stronger because there is strength in numbers.
To get help for you or someone you care about, here are some wonderful resources:
1-800-273-TALK (8255) OR
1-800-SUICIDE (1800-784-2433)
National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI)
www.NAMI.org
800-950-NAMI
RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)
www.RAINN.org
National Sexual Assault Hotline 800-656-HOPE (4673)
A life of happiness and light is possible. You are worth it. You’ve got this.
—Ami Allen-Vath
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book, this dream, has made it through with the support of my husband. Justin, you’re an anchor, and I’m grateful to have you in my life and as my partner. Many more books shall be written on our anniversary vacations. Hello, I love you! Thank you!
Victoria Lowes, my agent and friend. Your encouragement and hard work fills me with more gratitude than I can express. Thanks for believing in me and in my books.
Kristin Kulsavage. Your support for my book and the trust you’ve shown in me as a writer means so much. And it really does take a village to get a book out into the wild, so kudos to Team Sky Pony, especially Julie Matysik, Kylie Brien, Joshua Barnaby, and Cheryl Lew. Another huge thanks to Sarah Brody for the awesome cover. Thank you all so much.
Laura Stearns and Jen Young who’ve been there since page one for the book formerly known as Prom Bitch. You two read and waited for more chapters and expressed your support from first draft to agent to book deal and every single “cool fun thing” along the way. LoLo, you’ve been there from my YA years to my YA writing years. Infinite gratitude for all the back and forth poem sharing, sleepovers, and phone calls back when we used real phones. CCMCBF. Jen, oh jeeeez. Your leveled-up best-friendship is so special to me. Thanks for reading my words and sharing yours. Also, a final thanks for not letting me write the “Bree sleeping with the guitar scene.” I heart you, TLP.
Much gratitude and glittery crowns to these kings and queens: Jadzia Brandli, the first person to read and CP who wasn’t already my friend. Brent Taylor, for your critique, help, and being right about this baby book growing up and making it to shelves. Sarah Glenn Marsh. Your friendship, writerly support, and CPing is a life vest. Where would I be without your red pen and all our commiserating? Glenn, the guitarist from Mr. Flood’s Party, thanks for the music 411. Teresa Yea, you freaking rule. You’re a CP rock star and extra special thanks for zipping through this book with notes of wisdom and greatly appreciated inappropriateness. Christina June, thanks so much for the sensitive and professional eye. And Tera Waalen Gilmore, my “cool” friend since eighth grade, thanks for your magic—wink, wink.
If I formed a band, I’d call it Super Fem-tastic and insist the following ladies join: Natalie Blitt, Natasha Sinel, Rachel Simon, Christa Desir, Marci Lyn Curtis, and Dahlia Adler. Thanks for the reads, insightful notes, emails, and/or general coming through in times of “OHMYGODWHATAMIDOING?!” CAN YOU READ THIS?” and/or “HELP!” XOXO
To Seth Marquette and Melissa Bechthold. Aw, man. You guys listened to my angsting and read my query when we barely knew what the hell I was doing! *cranks up Golden Girls theme song and forces you into awkward group hug*
And for the love of Adam Levine, how the hell would I’ve made it without the writing community? To my writer friends, bloggers, and readers who’ve been on this journey with me. Your kindness humbles me and has been that extra ray of sunshine on bright and rainy days. #LOVEandTHANKS
Last, but never least, an ocean of thank-yous to my family. To my children, my sun and star, M&M. Thanks for sharing me. I love you both the most. The Roths, Jaakolas, and Vaths. Your support and cheering has been wonderful and I’m lucky to have you on my side. For my mom and dad: your support in me pursuing my dreams has never faltered. I’m so grateful. To my sisters, Holly, Crystal, and yes, you too, Sierra. Thanks for the unconditional love for me and a book you haven’t read. Roth sisters forever.
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