by Lisa Roecker
“Kate.” Liam Gilmour always said my name like a statement, never a question. On this frigid January morning it sounded more like an affirmation.
“Hey, I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, trying with every last ounce of my being to sound genuine and calm and okay. That was the most common question I got. Are you okay? And I’d almost figured out how to fake it.
Liam grabbed my hand and squeezed, seeing right through me. His blue button-down was untucked and wrinkled, but I could tell he’d tried to dress up, which meant much more than anything he could say. The sun glinted off his perfectly messy hair, all shiny golden brown—the kind of color women spent a fortune trying to achieve in expensive salons.
I turned Liam’s wrist over in my hand so I could see the simple orange bracelet everyone wore in honor of Grace. The Concilium, Pemberly Brown’s version of a student council, had asked me her favorite color. Liam was without a doubt one of the best things that had happened to me since Grace died, but something about seeing him wearing that orange band around his wrist reminded me that Grace was truly gone. The finality of it blindsided me.
Liam would never know Grace. He would know things about her. Like the fact that her favorite color was orange, or that she loved to stay up late and watch trashy TV while slurping Diet Coke through Twizzler straws. But he would never be forced to sit through one of her endless knock-knock jokes. He’d never have one of her world-famous playlists dedicated to him. Liam would never really know my best friend.
My eyes filled with tears, and a couple of them spilled over and splashed down on his wrist.
“Hey.” He pulled me into his chest in spite of the fact that my mom and dad were standing less than two feet away. He cupped my cheek and forced me to look into his light eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Kate…” My mom tugged me away from Liam. “It’s almost time. We have to sit down.” The satisfaction in her tone reminded me that she still wasn’t totally sold on my smexy, rumpled boyfriend. I gave him a lingering kiss on the lips so she’d know I was on to her. I heard Liam laugh quietly as our lips met. He knew exactly what I was up to.
“I’ll see you after, okay?” he whispered.
“Okay.” I trotted dutifully after my parents to find our reserved seats.
“Oh, look, there are the Allens.” My mom tilted her head their way, and I looked over just in time to see Seth’s mom lick her finger and swipe it across his face. He noticed me watching, and his cheeks burned redder than his flaming curls before he slapped his mother’s hand away. I shot him a sympathetic smile, and he immediately mouthed what looked like “I love you” at me. It might have been borderline romantic if he didn’t have something brown smeared across his upper lip, no doubt the spot Mrs. Allen had been after.
“When are you going to give that poor kid a chance?” My dad elbowed me, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Um, try never.” I tried to infuse the appropriate level of disgust in my tone but failed miserably. The truth was that Seth was my best friend in the whole world. For a while he had been my only friend. I wouldn’t even be here if not for him, so it was kind of impossible not to love him. Cheeto breath and all.
I was snapped out of my reverie when Headmaster Sinclair took the stage. His hair appeared thinner, the sprinkling of gray throughout more apparent. A hush swept across the grounds before he even uttered a sound. His pinched face was all anyone needed to quiet down.
“On behalf of Pemberly Brown Academy, I’d like to welcome you to the Grace Elizabeth Lee Memorial dedication ceremony. As all of you know, at the beginning of last school year, our entire community was shaken to its core.” His voice remained steady, cold almost, the words memorized to the point of losing all meaning. A secretary had probably prepared his introduction. “Grace was an exceptional student, friend, daughter, the list goes on, and she was taken far too soon in a tragic accident that will never be forgotten.”
I couldn’t help but notice how he hung on the word “accident.” It felt especially meant for me. “But part of moving forward is letting go.” Sinclair’s eyes flicked onto my own for a split second, so quickly that I wondered if it had even happened at all. “While at the same time always remembering. This new space will help us do exactly that.”
The headmaster cleared his throat, looking down for a moment before his gaze met the eyes of the crowd once again. “With that said, Grace’s family and I thought there was no one better suited to share her favorite Grace memory than Kate Lowry, Grace’s best friend. Kate?”
I’d never heard my name sound so sugar-coated, especially out of his mouth. It made me nauseous. Even more so when I watched him drop a tiny folded piece of paper into the glass vase. It didn’t seem fair that his “memory” got to be first. Headmaster Sinclair was one of the Brotherhood’s most powerful alumni, and he had been instrumental in covering up the truth behind Grace’s death last year. The fact that he was at her memorial ceremony pretending to honor her memory made me want to pummel him until there was nothing left except a bloody pair of bifocals. But I wasn’t in the mood to make a scene. Grace deserved more than that.
Instead, I approached the podium and settled for squeezing him hard enough to crack a rib when he wrapped his arms around me in a chilly embrace. Before lowering the microphone, I fished the worn paper from the bottom of my pocket and dropped it into the vase. An illusion of balance was restored.
“Careful,” he hissed. I gave him a demure smile that translated into something slightly more profane than “screw you.” The microphone let out a squeal when I angled it down, and it was as if all two hundred people in the crowd cringed at once. It all seemed so surreal then. Grace’s picture, bare branches scraping the sun-drenched sky, an entire community gathered in mourning. How had I ended up here? Liam must have recognized the panic written across my face because he gave me a wink. And then I got my footing.
I could do this. I had to do this. For Grace.
“As most of you know, Grace Lee was my best friend.” The strength of my voice surprised me. It must have surprised my parents too, because they beamed with pride. A little bit of sadness was mixed in, but mostly pride. “When somebody dies, it’s hard to find the right words. People say the same things—‘She’s in a better place, I’m so sorry, I know how you feel, I’m praying for you, thinking of you.’ I used to say that stuff too, because it’s just what you say.”
I wasn’t even looking at my notes anymore. The only things that seemed to make sense were the words coming out of my mouth.
Seth caught my eye and gave me a little thumbs-up. His small gesture gave me the courage I needed to continue.
“And after a while people start talking about moving on and going back to normal. But it’s not that easy.” Obviously. I had faded pink hair and brown roots. And that was only on the outside.
“Grace and I were like the same person. Everything I remember is connected to her.”
I picked up the framed picture of Grace. “This was taken on our first day of upper school at Pemberly Brown.” I paused for a minute, not sure how to put into words what that morning had felt like, why this picture was so important to me. It had been such an ordinary moment. Grace’s long, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her almond-shaped eyes were laughing.
“I love this picture, this memory, because it captured the moment before…well, before anything, really. There was all this anticipation. All this hope. I guess it’s just how I want to remember Grace.” I mumbled the last words, feeling stupid for even saying them out loud.
My eyes locked with Liam’s and he smiled, cheering me on from his seat. But I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes from raking through the crowd, sifting through the expectant faces until they landed on Bradley Farrow. His mocha skin had turned the color of ash, and his golden eyes were heavy and sad. And just like that, every last one of my words vanished into thin air.
“So, yeah, we should all remember her this way and keep her memory ali
ve.” Good lord, that sounded just as idiotic in my head as it did over the microphone, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from saying it. “So thanks. We’re now going to hear from some of Grace’s other friends.”
I shuffled back to my seat, cursing Bradley Farrow for being a living, breathing reminder of all the ways I’d failed Grace. But today wasn’t about Bradley. It wasn’t even about me. It was about Grace.
I managed to tune out all the noise and focus on the other students sharing their memories of Grace. As I listened, my eyes heavy with tears, I felt thankful that I had the strength to stay, that I didn’t take off into the woods or stand up and scream at the unfairness of the world. As much as I hated to admit it, the broken parts of my heart seemed to be coming together, forming a thick, dark scar. Maybe that’s what moving on felt like.
After everyone said their piece, the president of the school board stood to make the dedication.
“Thank you, students, for that spirited memorial to your friend. I’m sure she would have appreciated it.” She cleared her throat and shuffled her note cards.
“As you all know, in honor of Grace’s memory, the Lees have made an extremely generous endowment to Pemberly Brown. These funds will be used to build a new wing of our school to accommodate our growing student body.”
The audience politely applauded, but the president just cleared her throat.
“These funds were donated on the condition that any student found accessing restricted areas of the school or trespassing on school property after school hours will be immediately expelled. We will not suffer another tragedy.”
She paused briefly, as though waiting for applause, but the crowd was silent. Was she really saying what it sounded like she was saying? Most of the Sacramentum ceremonies were so old and so respected that even teachers turned a blind eye.
As I digested this new information, I felt my phone buzz twice against my thigh. When I reached to look at the text, I saw all of the other students surreptitiously doing the same.
Obsideo tonight. Station 12. Sunset. Don’t be late.
Chapter 3
Within seconds, the energy on the grounds shifted. Students were already buzzing about the invite. No doubt the new rules about being in restricted areas of campus after hours would only heighten the excitement. Clueless to the change, my parents attempted to steer me toward the Allens, but I hung back, clutching at my stomach. I wasn’t ready to field Seth’s questions about the new school rules or Obsideo and especially not about Grace. I needed time to process.
My mom rushed back to me, her face twisted with worry. “Kate, what is it?”
“I don’t feel good all of a sudden. Can we go home?” I wrapped my arms around my middle, holding on for dear life.
“Sweetie, you’re freezing. I’ll get your coat.” Before I could tell my mom I hadn’t brought a coat and wouldn’t be caught dead in one of hers, she returned, holding out a jacket I recognized immediately. But not because it belonged to either of us.
I felt the color leave my face. “Where did you get that?”
My mom’s forehead wrinkled. “Honey, you left it on your seat.”
I closed my eyes for a second and heard Grace’s infectious laugh, watched as she shrugged into the orange fleece, pulling the sleeves down over her hands. A wave of dizziness had me swaying on my feet, and my mom put her hands on my shoulders to steady me as I opened my eyes. The material was soft between my fingers, and I was barely able to resist holding it up to my face to see if it still smelled like Grace’s spicy perfume.
“Greg, she’s had enough. We need to get Kate home.”
And just like that, my parents led me to the car, no questions asked. That’s kind of how we operated. They didn’t ask; I didn’t tell. It actually came in quite handy.
The second we got home, I raced up the stairs to my room, flipped open my laptop, and began typing.
To: [email protected]
Sent: Sat 1/10 12:26 PM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Obsideo
Grace,
Your coat. Why is this happening to me? Am I imagining it? Is someone messing with me? Maybe it’s your parents; your mom was always so worried about us being cold. I don’t know. This just doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes I feel like you’re still here, just on vacation or transferred to another school. And seeing your jacket, smelling your perfume, it feels like you just forgot it in my locker or loaned it to me for Obsideo.
Obsideo…Do you remember trying to sneak in when we were in eighth grade? We sat by the mausoleum and listened to them say every single name. I don’t think I even listened.
It just wasn’t real then, you know? They were just names. But now they’ll be saying your name. And I just can’t be there to hear them say it. I’m not ready. I guess a big part of me still wants to believe you just forgot your jacket in my locker and then moved away, you know?
I hate this,
Kate
I saved the email to Grace in a folder in my inbox and flopped back onto my bed. I’d gotten into the habit of emailing her after she died a year and a half ago. I used to actually send them, but now I was too paranoid to hit Send. The societies were always watching, waiting. They regularly hacked into email accounts to get whatever info they could. There’s no way I would ever give them the satisfaction now.
I liked writing down all the stuff I would have talked to Grace about if she were still alive. It was comforting somehow. And it still felt like somehow Grace was reading them.
I looked at the phone on my bed; the text about Obsideo was still up on the screen. Obsideo, meaning “to haunt.” Translation: PB students gathered at Station 12, the Pemberly Brown cemetery, in the dead of winter at sunset and drank cheap beer out of red plastic cups, pretending to pay tribute to the dead, specifically the Pemberly Brown dead. The list was pages long and included students from the graduating class of 1950, the year our school was founded, on through the decades. Cancer, car wrecks, heart attacks, four plane crashes, a couple suicides, and one freak hiking accident had all conspired to end the lives of various alumni throughout the years.
During our first Obsideo, Grace, Maddie, and I had huddled together, shivering in tank tops and skinny jeans, half listening to the names like everyone else. The names were all vaguely familiar, faceless members of our school’s folklore and the inspiration for countless school traditions. Maybe that’s why I never really thought about their being dead—the stories made them feel alive.
I needed time to process. Or maybe it was the nagging feeling that no one ever really died at Pemberly Brown.
I dropped my phone and headed back to my desk. I couldn’t not log onto Amicus to see what was going on.
The Obsideo RSVP list was blowing up—totally predictable, given the announcement this morning. When were adults going to learn that forbidding kids to do stuff only made them want to do it more? It’s called reverse psychology, folks. Look it up.
My heart sunk a little when I saw that Liam had responded Yes. Part of me wanted to be there with him. To feel him squeeze my hand when they read Grace’s name for the first time.
And then I saw Bethany “Beefany” Giordano’s RSVP pop up with a comment.
RIP Grace.
All of the muscles in my body tensed at the same time. No way was I going to Obsideo.
The Twilight Zone theme song sounded from my phone, and Seth’s picture appeared on the screen.
“I’ll pick you up at four,” my dorky next-door neighbor breathed into the phone before I’d even had a chance to say hello. He sounded like he’d just come off the treadmill.
I chose to ignore his assumption that I was going to this stupid thing. “Why are you so out of breath?”
“What do you mean?” he huffed.
“You’re breathing so heavy. It’s distracting.”
“It’s just how I breathe, okay? So see you in a couple hours.”
“I actually don’t need a ride.”<
br />
“Ahh,” he said, Darth Vader–like breaths filling the silence. “You have plans with BJ. He’s the only other person who hasn’t replied yet.”
“Who?” I asked, wondering where this could possibly be going and how some unfortunate soul had wound up with such a tragic nickname.
“You know, English class. The super-smart one.”
“Uh, you mean Brad?”
“Yeah, Brad James—BJ.”
I didn’t bother taking the time to explain to Seth just how wrong that nickname was. Of course I knew who Brad was. He and his sister, Jen, were basically connected at the hip in the creepiest way imaginable. I glanced at the RSVP list again. Both of their names appeared on the No Reply list after mine. Not surprising, considering that the last party they went to ended with Alistair Reynolds offering them one hundred dollars to make out. Keeping it classy. That’s just how we roll at Pemberly Brown.
“Just don’t start calling him BJ in public, okay?” I said, clicking through the comments again.
“But why not? His middle name is James!”
Just then my phone signaled another call, and when I looked at the screen, I saw the goofy picture of Liam pretending he was going to eat my parents’ mistletoe. I remembered punching him playfully in the arm and then snapping the shot. It made me laugh every time he called.
“Listen, I have to go, but have fun tonight.”
“If you change your mind, the white bullet leaves at four sharp.” I pictured Mrs. Allen’s white minivan. Not exactly a selling point. “Oh, and Kate?” Seth asked, still breathing heavy. It sounded like he was eating the phone, which, with his appetite, wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. “You gotta at least give it a shot tonight. Grace would want you to be there.”
My phone beeped again.