Tragedy Girl

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  “Just leave me alone,” Natalie wails, trying to force the door closed against my weight. “Please.”

  “I just want to talk to you a minute,” I say, trying to sound soothing. “Please?”

  She drops her hands defeatedly to her side and peers at me through tear-stained eyes. “You wanna talk to somebody? Go talk to your boyfriend.”

  I bristle. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m not seeing him anymore. He’s a jerk. I hate the way he talks to you.”

  She laughs ruefully through her tears. “It’s true. Everything he said is true.” She waves. “‘Hi, everybody. I’m the pathetic sap in love with a guy who can’t even stand the sight of me.’ I’m not crying because of what he said; I’m crying because it’s true.”

  I peer into her face. “Except him accusing you of writing those notes and intentionally stirring up things about the drowning. That’s not true … right?”

  She dissolves into a fresh wave of tears and shakes her head vigorously from side to side. “I didn’t write the notes. And I wasn’t lying this morning. I was just repeating what I was told … from a very reliable source.”

  “Who, Natalie?” I press. “What’s going on? And why does this person keep singling out Jamie instead of Blake?”

  She squeezes in her lips and speaks in a stronger voice than before. “She thinks Jamie’s really bad news. She’s scared of him.”

  The words bounce around in my head for a moment. “But why ? Why Jamie?”

  Natalie pulls a lock of hair behind her ear. “She won’t tell me. Obviously it has something to do with Cara, but I don’t know what … ”

  “Why? ” I demand. “Why are you so sure it has something to do with Cara?”

  Natalie looks at me steadily. “Because she’s Cara’s best friend.”

  I hand Natalie a tissue and she limply accepts it, dabbing at her eyes.

  We’re sitting on the cold bathroom tile now, our backs pressed against the wall. The first-period bell has rung, but we’ve ignored it. We have the bathroom to ourselves, and I’m not missing this opportunity to reach out to Natalie—not only because she’s finally filling in some missing pieces, but because I’m afraid to leave her alone. She’s so fragile, so wounded … a hollowed-out shell who’s decided that Blake—egomaniac Blake, of all people—holds the key to her self-worth, to her happiness, to her sense of belonging. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if she’d been alone in the bathroom. Would she have shattered the mirror and slashed a piece of jagged glass against her wrist? Blake was so cruel to her, so gratuitously cruel. How dare she give him the power to crush her soul?

  “What was her name again?” I ask Natalie now, squeezing my knees against my chest.

  “Rebecca,” Natalie says. “I’ve known her since Blake and Cara started dating two years ago. I didn’t really know anybody from Cara’s school, but I started following a bunch of them on Snapchat and Twitter, figuring out where the parties were or where they might be hanging out.”

  She glances at me to gauge my reaction. “Do I sound like a stalker?”

  “Yeah,” I admit, and we laugh lightly.

  “I didn’t mean to be,” Natalie says, peering into space. “I knew I didn’t stand a chance with Blake. I’ve always been a nobody, and he’s always been, like, a god almost. It just made me feel good to be near him, to be his friend. At least I thought I was his friend … ”

  “Why would you want to be friends with somebody who treats you like crap?”

  Natalie shrugs.

  “Would you, like, stop it?” I say, and she smiles wanly.

  Then she looks at me shyly and asks, “Why are you being so nice to me? I was horrible to you that night at the bonfire. I feel really—”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Who cares. It’s over. Tell me more about Rebecca and Cara.”

  Natalie takes a deep breath and continues:

  “So Rebecca and Cara had been best friends since, like, first grade. Rebecca was just crushed when Cara died. It killed her. And she’s been weird about Jamie ever since.”

  “So, like, she thinks Jamie drowned her or something?”

  Natalie thrums her fingers on her knee. “She wouldn’t say. She said she couldn’t say. She just seemed to know something that nobody else did. All I know is that while everybody else was whispering rumors about Blake, she was focused on Jamie. That suited me fine; I liked that she knew what a good guy Blake is. I knew he could never hurt anybody.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “He hurts you all the time.”

  She shakes her head. “Just because I’m a pest who won’t leave him alone,” she says, and my fists clench at her maddening insistence on giving Blake a pass for everything, for hating herself rather than him.

  “Blake loved Cara, he really did,” Natalie continues. “They talked about getting married. He was crazy about her, and everybody knew it. Rebecca knew it. I don’t think she had anything against Blake at all; she knew he worshiped Cara. It was Jamie. She never would tell me why she was so mad at Jamie.”

  “Was Rebecca at the bonfire the night Cara drowned?” I ask, and Natalie shakes her head quickly.

  “She couldn’t go. She had something going on with her family. That always killed Rebecca too—I think she felt like Cara would still be here if she’d gone that night.”

  A bored voice starts droning announcements over the loudspeaker, but Natalie and I ignore the noise.

  “Everybody keeps telling me how Jamie has always practically idolized Blake,” I say, and Natalie nods in agreement. “But that’s not what I see. Jamie acts like he hates him. There’s all this tension between them, yet they seem like they’re joined at the hip.”

  Natalie mmmms her agreement. “Jamie got really hot over the summer. He was kinda scrawny before, kinda wimpy, really shy. Nobody paid much attention to him. He was always in Blake’s shadow.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” I say. “And that would explain why Blake might suddenly resent Jamie—I’m finally getting that he can’t stand sharing the spotlight—but it wouldn’t explain why Jamie is so hostile toward Blake. And that’s what it is: hostility.”

  “Trust me, I’ve asked Rebecca a thousand times what’s up,” Natalie says. “We really got close while Blake and Cara were dating, and we got extra close after Cara died. She’s cried on my shoulder more times than I can count. But getting any specifics from her—why she hates Jamie—she won’t say.”

  “Jamie was supposed to speak at Cara’s memorial service,” I say, and Natalie nods.

  “I know. That killed her. She was so upset, and so relieved when he ended up staying in his seat. She never, you know, accused him of hurting her or anything, but something happened before Cara died that turned her against him. Then, when I told Rebecca that Jamie was dating Melanie, she … freaked out. She felt like she had to protect her, even though she doesn’t know her. The night after the bonfire, when you guys had gone on another date, I drove her to Melanie’s house so she could put a note in her mailbox. She didn’t show it to me, and she didn’t tell me it was anonymous. You know, I’m not an idiot, and I figured she was trying to let Melanie know that Jamie was bad news, but I didn’t know any specifics. Then, when they kept dating, she asked me to put a couple more notes in Melanie’s locker.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You weren’t tempted to peek?”

  Natalie shrugs. “The envelopes were sealed. Plus, I’m not really that interested in Jamie or Melanie.”

  I can’t help shaking my head ruefully at her guilelessness.

  “I didn’t know the earth would practically explode when Blake saw me putting one of the notes in Melanie’s locker,” Natalie says. “I called Rebecca right away and asked if I could tell everybody that she was the one writing them. She said she’d think about it and let me know. Then she called me this morning with the news about Cara’s body bein
g found.”

  “Hmmmmmm … ”

  Natalie studies me cryptically. “What are you thinking?”

  I clasp my hands together. “Sounds like a good way to deflect your question. To keep from having to answer it.”

  “No,” Natalie insists, “she said she’d just gotten off the phone with Cara’s mother … ”

  “But a body being found after months in the ocean in the height of summer?” I say. “Really? Like I said, it sounds like a good way to get you to change the subject, or … ”

  Natalie leans closer. “Yes?”

  I stare into space. “Or to try to bring things to a head.”

  Twenty-Four

  “Anne!”

  I suck in a breath. Blake has jumped out from behind a wall as I’m walking from the restroom to my class.

  “Where have you been?” he asks, gripping my forearm tightly.

  I glance at my arm. “Let go, please.”

  “What?”

  I set my chin. “Please let go of my arm.”

  He tosses his hands in the air. “Jesus Christ ! Would you just tell me what the hell is going on?”

  I furrow my brow. “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  I cock my head to the side. “Have you been waiting on me?”

  He shakes his head slowly, one of his many mannerisms that, I’ve come to recognize, signals his incredulity at how stupid the people around him are. “So it’s a big shock that I’d be interested in knowing what Nutcase Natalie had to say?”

  “If you’re interested in knowing what she has to say, you can ask her yourself. You might want to curb the cruelty; now that you need something from her, it would be a good time to trot out the charm.”

  I resume my walk toward class.

  Blake huffs and follows me, his sneakers pounding the tile. “So now I’m the bad guy? After the crap she’s been pulling? And don’t think I believe her for a minute: ‘Ooooooohhh, they found the body. Everybody look at me! I know something you don’t!’” He’s using the same high-pitched, sing-song voice he used when he talked about the things Natalie brought him to the hospital, pouring on generous slatherings of ridicule and contempt. I want to hurl. I keep walking, staring straight ahead.

  “Jesus, Anne, do you have any idea how it affects me to hear things like that about Cara?”

  I stop and face him. “Enough, Blake. I’m onto your bag of tricks. I know it’s time to whip out the poor-pitiful-me card.”

  His jaw drops. “Like I’m faking my feelings about Cara?”

  I ponder the question, then say, “Maybe.”

  I resume walking, and he trots after me, getting a little breathless. “Christ, Anne, talk about cruel! Why are you being so cold? Why won’t you answer my calls? Is this the price I pay for getting a little rattled the first time I go back to the scene of my girlfriend’s death?”

  I keep walking. I’m so done.

  “Anne!”

  Still walking, still ignoring him.

  “Don’t you get how much I love you?” he asks, his voice suddenly plaintive.

  I roll my eyes and keep walking.

  “You know what?” Blake says as I near my classroom, his stride still matching mine. “I thought I appreciated Cara, but I didn’t even come close to understanding what an amazing girl she was until I met you. I figured every girl was like her: sweet and caring and loyal. Now I know how hard it is to find someone like—”

  I reach my classroom and face him one last time before walking inside. “See ya.”

  It’s only as I’m halfway inside the door that I hear his parting shot:

  “Bitch.”

  I take a deep breath, then walk toward the cafeteria table.

  I’ve been able to avoid discussions all morning, hiding my head in a book between classes to feign studying, but there’s no avoiding questions at a lunch table. I considered skipping lunch altogether, but I don’t want to fuel the flames by acting sketchy. Still, I don’t want to tell Melanie and Lauren about my conversation with Natalie. Yes, I guess both of them—especially Melanie—have as much of a right as I do to know who wrote the notes, and for all I know, Natalie’s already told them—but I don’t want to get drawn into more gossip. I don’t want to talk about Cara. I don’t want to talk about Blake. I don’t want more drama.

  But I take one look at their faces when I reach the lunch table and realize that’s not in the cards. Their eyes are wide, their muscles tense.

  “Jamie’s gone,” Melanie informs me gravely before I even sit down.

  “What?”

  “He’s gone! Remember when he went to the bathroom after Natalie told us about Cara’s body? He must have left the building from there. Nobody’s seen him since. He hasn’t been in any of his classes.”

  “O-kay,” I say, settling into my seat and placing my tray on the table. “I guess he was sick. He sure looked sick.”

  “He didn’t look sick,” Melanie says. “He looked terrified.” She bites a nail and continues. “I knew I should have gone to him when he ran to the bathroom. I knew Natalie’s message pushed him over the edge.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask slowly.

  “Nobody realizes how sensitive Jamie is,” Melanie says, pushing her fingers anxiously through her hair. “He’s just now started confiding in me, letting me know how much he cared about Cara and how devastated he was when she died.”

  “Blake got all the attention, naturally,” Lauren says bitterly. “Blake always gets all the attention.”

  “But the drowning really did a number on Jamie too,” Melanie continues. “He still hasn’t gotten over it. He can’t talk about it without crying. He’s like a baby in my arms every time I try to get him to open up.” Her trembling hand hovers over her mouth. “I knew I should have gone to him.”

  “Call him,” Lauren says. “I’ll spot you so you won’t get caught on your cell phone.”

  “I’ve tried,” Melanie says, now on the verge of tears. “My calls keep going straight to voicemail.”

  Her eyes dart from Lauren’s face to mine, then back again.

  “I’m going to his house,” she tells us firmly.

  “Now?” Lauren asks, but Melanie has already jumped up from the table, leaving her tray behind, and bolted out the door.

  “Call us?” Lauren shouts out to her weakly, but Melanie doesn’t respond.

  She’s long gone.

  “So, Natalie’s full of shit.”

  I look at Lauren evenly.

  “My brother-in-law works the cop beat for the Hollis Island Tribune,” she continues. “I texted him after Natalie’s bombshell, and he said there’s nothing to it. The dead girl’s body has not been recovered.”

  “Mmmmmm.”

  Lauren stares at me long enough to make me squirm. “But then, you already knew that,” she says, drawing out each word.

  I feign surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Everybody knows you were holed up with Natalie in the bathroom during first period.”

  I roll my eyes. “Geez. How about what I had for breakfast? Is that a hot topic of conversation, too? What else does ‘everybody’ know?”

  “That you dumped Blake,” Lauren responds coolly.

  I drop my head back and groan. “Can I just have an uneventful day of school?”

  “Not when you kick it off by dumping the school stud. The first smart thing you’ve done since you got here, in my humble opinion.”

  “How would anybody know I dumped him?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Ah, poor, innocent, naïve Anne. Allow me to introduce you to the ways of the world, wherein juicy school gossip becomes viral at the approximate speed of light.”

  “Well, the paparazzi can just go on their merry way,” I say through gritted teeth,
“because from this point onward, I plan to be excruciatingly un-newsworthy.”

  Lauren motions behind me. Or not, she mouths.

  I turn around and see Blake walking toward me.

  “I need to talk to you,” he says as he reaches me.

  “Hey Blake, have you heard from Jamie?” Lauren asks him. “The word on the street is he’s MIA.”

  Blake flashes her a look of intense annoyance and Lauren cuts her eyes at him. Blake turns his attention back to me. “Please. Give me five minutes.”

  “I don’t want to talk, Blake,” I say.

  “Please, Anne … ”

  “Leave her alone,” Lauren snaps at him. “There’s nothing to talk about anyway. Natalie was lying. Cara’s body hasn’t been—”

  “Shut up!”

  Blake spits the words at her so venomously that our jaws drop. “You have no right to even utter Cara’s name!” he says, a vein in his neck bulging.

  Then he looks at me. “You think you can dump me ? You were never anything but sloppy seconds to begin with! And don’t believe what people say about you two looking alike, by the way; she was so much hotter than you. Do you honestly think I would’ve given you a second glance if the love of my life hadn’t died? God, to think I took you there yesterday … brought you to the place where she took her last breath. You don’t deserve to so much as—”

  “Blake.”

  Garrett has walked up behind his brother, uttering his name with eerie calm as he puts a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Enough, dude. Let’s go eat our lunch.”

  Blake shakes off his brother’s hand, his face red and mottled.

  “Do you know she has the nerve to think she’s somebody special?” Blake tells him, nodding his head at me with a quick jerk. “She thinks she’s some kind of goddamn—”

  “Dude.”

  Garrett looks at me apologetically, then pulls his brother away. Blake resists at first but then reluctantly starts following, turning around a couple of times en route to glare at me menacingly.

  “Oh my god,” Lauren mutters.

  My heart is pounding, but I aim for blasé. “I sure know how to pick ’em, huh?”