by Dawn Green
Baker: Yeah, that might not have been the best idea. Sara, I think I should tell you that I know about what you’ve been going through.
Me: (nothing)
Baker: I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much right now. I found this notebook in the trash. I think it belongs to you.
Me: Uh, thanks.
Baker: I only read enough to know that it was yours.
Me: Okay.
Baker: I think it’s really great that you’re doing that. Writing things down can really help … sort things out. It helps us muddle through all those thoughts and emotions we don’t know what to do with.
Me: You sound like my ob … counselor.
Baker: Is that a good thing or bad?
Me: (shrugging)
Baker: I hope you’re not thinking of stopping. I don’t think you’ve said everything you need to say to her.
Me: I thought you didn’t read it.
Baker: I didn’t. I just think that if you’re throwing it in the garbage, then you’re probably not done with it.
There were a few more awkward pauses, but that was pretty much it. She’s kind of cool, I guess … for a teacher.
School that day totally sucked. No one talked to me. Of course, I didn’t really want them to, anyway. I think I’m becoming the odd kid that everyone avoids.
Remember Evan J. in the fourth grade? He always smelled like sour milk and sat by himself on the tire chair in the playground, reading the same stained Archie comic over and over again. I think I’m getting to be like him, minus the sour milk smell and Archie comic. I wonder whatever happened to that kid. Didn’t he go to some “special” school after Grade 6? Maybe they’ll send me to a “special” school soon.
I’m sorry I got so mad at you the other day.
Sticks
P.S. Even Glasses Girl is avoiding me. I didn’t see her at all today. Is it strange that I kind of miss her?
October 25th
Dear Stones,
Loren and I have officially stopped hanging out. She was going to come over for a sleepover tonight but I bailed on her. I made my mom phone and tell her mom that I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t know why, I just don’t want to talk to her about … well, about you. And I know that’s what she wants to do.
I just found out that her parents made her go to a counselor as well. She didn’t tell me herself, though. I only know because her mom told my mom and my mom told me, to make me feel better about going. Yay, I’m not the only freak around. My mom totally doesn’t get it. She’s mad that I canceled on Loren but I don’t care. I can hear her and my dad fighting about it downstairs.
Mom: Why do you keep defending her? She needs to spend time with some real friends.
Dad: Just leave her be. If she doesn’t feel up to it …
Mom: Oh, she’s feeling fine. She just wants to hide up in her room, listening to music all night. It’s not healthy. She needs real friends.
Dad: Give her time.
Mom: She’s had enough time.
Dad: Has she? I know I never had to deal with what she’s going through at her age.
Mom: I know. You’re right. I’m just … worried about her.
I can’t believe my dad won that one. He never wins.
My mom’s wrong. I’m not up here listening to music. I’m not up here doing anything other than writing to you. I kind of stopped listening to music. No, I’m serious!! I haven’t touched my iPod in forever. I don’t even know where it is—probably under a pile of clothes or something.
There’s this song playing on the radio right now. I don’t know who it’s by, but the lyrics are something about coming home and washing away pain and sins … I fucking HATE this song right now. People are posting it on your FB, dedicating it to you and shit like that. Some are sending it to me because it reminds them of you. What’s funny is that I know you’d hate this song. We would have made so much fun of it together. But it’s EVERYWHERE!! It’s hard to listen to anything right now. Everything reminds me of you. Reminds me of something we did together. Like that Damien Rice song we listened to on repeat. And I know you don’t agree with me, but you got so good at playing it on the guitar. Every time I listen to the part at the end, the part where it gets fast, it always makes me think about how frustrated you got when you messed up, and then how mad you got when I laughed at you for getting frustrated … I hate music.
You: You don’t mean that.
Me: Yes, I do.
You: Sticks.
Me: Okay, I don’t hate it … it’s just that it doesn’t sound the same without you. And when I listen to it … I just … I see you. It’s like a montage of you running through my head.
You: A montage of me? Like my greatest hits?
Me: Kind of.
You: I like that.
Me: You would.
You: You have to listen to music, Sticks. You have to listen to it for me because I couldn’t take it if I wrecked music for you.
Me: It doesn’t sound the same without you. Nothing’s the same without you.
You: Is that why you bailed on Loren?
Me: Hanging out with her reminds me too much of hanging out with you. All of us together. And I can’t do it. It hurts too much.
You’re gone but you’re not really gone. And it hurts.
Sticks
October 27th
Dear Stones,
You never told me you were leaving. The OC asked me what your last words were to me. I told her I didn’t remember, because it’s none of her freaking business, and because it’s a lot more fun to be difficult with her.
You said, “See ya later.” Those were your exact words. “See ya later.” See-ya-later, and then you left me at that party on the beach. What if I’d left with you? If you came over to my house for a sleepover that night instead? If only I told you that I wanted you to stay with me that night. But I stayed with Loren, and you … you left.
See ya later.
Sticks
October 29th
Dear Stones,
It’s official—I’ve become the weird kid at school. I think I’m even weirder than Glasses Girl.
Everyone’s still avoiding me. I sit at the back of the class; I go to the library and read during breaks; and at lunch I wait till almost everyone has left the cafeteria before I go in, or I just avoid lunch altogether. I think it’s why I’ve lost some weight. My mom is super worried I have some kind of eating disorder now. She sends me to school with lunch and, most days, I try to eat what I can, but sometimes I don’t get to it and I forget to dump it out (like today), and she freaks out. I admit that I should be eating more. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. And it’s not like I’m not eating at all. She watches me eat dinner right in front of her, and I snack as soon as I get home. Sometimes I’m just not hungry. But sometimes I do just want to avoid the lunchroom.
I hate the lunchroom. I’ve always hated the lunchroom, but I hate it even more now. It’s supposed to be a place where the school comes together but, really, it just separates us more. You know what it’s like? It’s like a giant ring of popularity. Or like a giant circus ring. There are the freaks and social outcasts (like me) who eat on the outskirts of the room. The next ring in is the geeks/nerds, Asian kids, and foreign exchange students. Kind of mixed in that group are the pot-heads who sit with their head phones on all day. Then there are the drama kids, artsy students, club groups, and those that aren’t trying to be cool but kind of are, because they’re not trying (I think we used to sit with them). And then the jocks and team sport people, and next to them, right in the middle, there’s the popular crowd—the ringleaders (or the ones that think they are). Drea is sitting in that center circle now—sitting in the middle of the ring. Like a bull’s-eye. It’s where she’s always wanted to be. Loren’s kind of a floater, but she usually sits in the artsy group circle with Mateo, and Jake sits with the jocks. I don’t know where Glasses Girl sits. She’s never in here. I don’t know why I’m finding this so fascinating.
And here’s me, on the outside.
Sticks
October 30th
Dear Stones,
So I came home from school today and my dad was sitting in the living room, waiting for me. He said he had a surprise for me, and then took me into the kitchen, and there was this cardboard box on the floor. You’re not going to believe this, but he got me a dog—a puppy, actually.
Me: What’s this?
Dad: A puppy!
Me: I can see that, Dad.
Dad: (with a stupid silly smile on his face) Isn’t she cute?
Me: She?
Dad: Yeah, the breeder only had one female left, and I thought she’d be perfect for you.
Me: For me?
Dad: Don’t you like her?
I did think she was really cute. Who doesn’t think a puppy is cute?! But for some reason, I couldn’t say that to him. I know he wanted me to jump up and down and get really excited about the whole thing, but all I felt was anger.
Me: What kind is she?
Dad: A chocolate Lab. You don’t sound excited. You’re not happy I got her for you? You’ve been asking for a dog since you were six.
Me: Ya, when I was six, I wanted a dog. You and mom both said we couldn’t get one and you got me a hamster instead.
Dad: Well, I think maybe now the time is right.
Me: The time? You mean this time, right now, after my best friend died? NOW YOU DECIDE TO GET ME A DOG?
Dad: Sara, calm down. She isn’t supposed to be some replacement for …
Me: Oh, really?!
Dad: Really. I just thought …
Me: Does Mom even know?
Dad: Not yet.
Me: She’s going to lose it.
Dad: You let me handle her. I’m not trying to replace Kacey with her—I just thought that you could, you know, use a friend.
Me: Because I don’t have others?
Dad: That’s not what I meant. Look, do you want me to take her back?
Of course I told him no. She’s freaking adorable. She’s this soft fluffy chocolate ball with bright green eyes. Only Cruella de Vil would send her back.
I brought her up to my room and, right now, she’s jumping around my floor, playing with a ball of socks.
I am excited he got her for me, but I’m also pissed off because I KNOW the only reason he did it was because of you.
Oh, Sara, your best friend died. That’s too bad. Here’s a dog.
I’m not two. They can’t just distract me and make everything all better by buying me something.
I made my dad feel bad. I get that he’s trying to do something for me, it’s just … I don’t know … when I look at her, all I can think is that she’s here and you’re not. And if you were here, he never would have gotten her for me. It’s so fucked up.
And now I can hear my parents fighting downstairs. My mom is pissed that he didn’t tell her about it. She just said that she wants him to return it, and he yelled back, “NO! You can deal with Sara your way, and I can deal with her mine!” Deal with me. See, I told you this was about you.
My parents have been fighting a lot lately. After your funeral, things were better with them but, lately, it’s gone back to normal, to before you left—actually, I think they’re more divided than before. My dad’s been sleeping in the spare room, although he keeps making the bed before I get up and pretending that everything’s fine. I only know because I’m still not sleeping and, every now and then, when I get up for some milk, I can hear him snoring. They’re acting like I’m the one who left, or I did something to them, or like you left them and not me.
And now there’s this dog. I don’t even know what to call her. Oh, friggin’ fantastic, she just peed on the floor. My mom’s going to throw a conniption if I don’t clean it up.
Sticks
October 31st November 1st
Dear Stones,
I have a lot to tell you. Something BIG happened with Weird Glasses Girl (and I’ve gone back to calling her Weird because, well … you’ll understand when I tell you what happened). But I’ll get to that.
So, my mom made me go to the Halloween Dance because she thinks I’m staying in my room too much. I would have ditched but, not only did she make me go, she signed up to help with the refreshments table to make sure that I went! As if going to the dance wasn’t bad enough. And I had to dress up. The only thing we had around the house was that old witch’s costume I wore in Grade 7. Original, I know. Oh, and the best part—my mom went as a witch, too. She was so excited that we were matching. She even made my dad take a picture before we left. I know it sounds lame, and it was, but my mom was so happy that I was getting out of the house and that we were matching … the smile on her face, I just couldn’t take that away. Besides, it was just one night and, let’s be honest, it’s not like it was going to hurt my popularity. I’ve definitely invented a new low on the popularity food chain.
The Halloween Dance—I don’t know why they call it a dance. No one is there to actually dance. There’s music, and they had one of those big screens with videos playing on it, but everyone was just standing around and talking. Honestly, it was the longest two hours of my life. It wasn’t a dance; it was torture. And, yes, it was that bad. I talked with Loren for a bit, but she was there to see Mateo, so we didn’t hang out for long. Drea and her group of wannabes came dressed in next to nothing. Really, I think they only like Halloween because they can get away with wearing things that they couldn’t during school. Sometimes I can’t believe Drea. If things were normal … if you weren’t gone and we were all still friends, she would have been making fun of those girls with us. I don’t know what she’s doing with them. Whatever.
My mom wanted me to stay close, but I kept getting “the look” from everyone who saw me there so, as soon as she was busy, I snuck out and went for a walk around the hallways.
I saw Jake with some of his hockey buddies by the back door, taking swigs from a water bottle. They think they’re so sneaky, but it doesn’t take a brainiac to know it’s not water in the bottle … idiots. Some of them saw me when I walked by. I could hear them whispering and laughing about me. I’m not sure, because I left too quickly, but I think I saw Jake hit one of the guys who said something about me. I’m pretty sure he did. I didn’t want to go back to the dance, so I kept walking around.
A school is an eerie place at night when no one is around. I went by your locker. They took down all the notes and flowers people had taped to it. No one is using it yet. I don’t think anyone wants to. It just felt so empty. I don’t know why I did it, but I got a jiffy marker from my locker and wrote on the inside of yours: K-stonz was here.
It was permanent marker, so I don’t think they’ll be able to erase it. I hope they don’t.
Then things got “weird.” I was walking back to the dance when I saw Weird Glasses Girl standing at the end of the hallway looking at me.
Let me set the scene.
The hall was dark. There was no one else around. I was standing at one end of the hall and she was standing at the other, staring at me. Oh, and she was dressed as a clown, and you know how clowns freak me out! The only reason I knew it was her was because of her glasses. It felt like something right out of a horror movie. She started walking toward me. Came right up to me. I wanted to run but I stood my ground … and that’s when she started talking to me.
Weird Girl: What are you doing?
Me: Nothing.
WG: Yes, you were. I saw you putting graffiti on the lockers.
Me: What?
WG: I saw you.
Me: So what? It’s my friend’s locker.
WG: Was.
Me: WHAT?
WG: She’s not here anymore.
Me: What do you want? Why are you always following me?
WG: How did she do it?
Me: As if I’d tell you.
WG: But you know, don’t you?
Me: You’re a freak.
WG: My dad says that it’s not nice to
call people names.
Me: Get out of here. Leave me alone.
WG: He also says that she didn’t go to heaven.
Me: WHAT?!
WG: And he’s a minister, so he would know.
Me: Is that why you’ve been following me like a freak?
WG: He said people like her are lost and always will be.
Me: You shut the fuck up. You didn’t know her.
WG: You shouldn’t swear. My dad says that she …
Me: SHUT UP. Shut the FUCK up …
And that’s when Miss Baker walked in—dressed as an angel!! She had heard me yelling from down the hall and came to see what was going on. It’s a good thing, too, because I was going to hit Weird Girl. I’ve never hit anyone before—okay, maybe you, during a pillow fight or something, but this was different. I wanted to hit her, punch her, push her, something. She took off as soon as Baker arrived. All she saw was me standing alone in the hall. I was so mad that I was shaking, actually shaking. I didn’t even know that was a real thing.
Baker: Sara, are you all right? What happened?
Me: That’s not true.
Baker: What’s not true?
Me: That she’s not in heaven. That’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not. Why would she say that?
Baker: Maybe we should go back to the dance. Find your mom.
Me: I don’t want to go back there. Why would she say that? Why?
Baker: Well … some people believe …
I didn’t wait to hear the rest of what she was going to say. I couldn’t. I just took off and ran all the way home and started writing.
All this time. All this time, wondering why Weird Girl was following me … and THAT’S why? I hate her. FREAK!
I know it’s not true. Your family isn’t even religious. It can’t count if you don’t believe in it. Right?
It’s 3:14 AM. I had to stop writing earlier because my mom came home. Apparently Baker found her at the dance and told her everything. I guess Weird Girl is autistic or something, and she gets easily fixated on things (like me), and says a lot of things that most people find inappropriate. You think? Telling me my friend isn’t going to heaven … umm, hell, yes, I think that’s inappropriate. I don’t know what to think about her now. I want to hate her for what she said, but my mom said that I need to be understanding of her “condition.” I’m still so mad, and I hate that I can’t be mad at her. My mom didn’t even care that I ran out of the dance. She said she was glad that I was home and safe, and she told me to get to bed … but I can’t sleep. I’ve been on the Internet all night.