Playlist for the Dead

by Michelle Falkoff

  I’d imagined that everything would be different once Hayden and I got to high school. I felt like we’d both made progress in getting over our shyness; now we’d have a chance to expand our insular little world. In high school, I was sure, there would be a bunch of guys more like us—into gaming and music, maybe a little geeky but not total dorks—and they’d be our friends. Maybe there would even be some girls. Girls like Astrid.

  And some of that had been true. Libertyville High was huge—it had kids not just from Libertyville itself but from a bunch of neighboring farm towns, and there were tons of kids who neither of us had ever met, some of whom looked like us and ran clubs that included stuff we were into. Gaming, comics, all that. But I’d counted on Hayden being on the same page as me, and as soon as school started, I could tell I’d been wrong. I couldn’t get Hayden to come with me to anything, and I was too nervous to go alone.

  I figured out pretty quickly why Hayden was so inclined to hide out. Ryan and his friends were in my sister’s grade, so they were all juniors by the time we got to school. But Rachel was content to pretend she was an only child, ignoring me when we ran into each other in the halls. Not Ryan. We’d made it through the first few days of school without incident, happy in the knowledge that even though we didn’t have any classes together—I was in the Honors track, but Hayden was dyslexic and stuck in all the lower-level classes—we shared a lunch period most days. And on Fridays, we shared it with Ryan and his friends.

  “Oh, look, it’s Ryan’s fatass little brother,” we’d heard Trevor say as we sat down with our lunches.

  “How are you liking the new school, Gayden?” Jason said, plunking his tray down next to Hayden. That was their second-favorite nickname for him. The first was an oldie-but-goodie, one Ryan had come up with when they were little kids: Hate-him.

  “Leave me alone,” Hayden said, looking around for Ryan. Sad that he’d thought Ryan might be able to help. He realized his mistake as soon as he saw Ryan standing right behind Jason, laughing. “Not funny, Ryan.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan said. “It’s kind of funny.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” Trevor said. “Maybe we need to step up our game.” He opened up his little box of chocolate milk and dumped it over Hayden’s head. The three of them started laughing.

  “That’s definitely funny,” Ryan said.

  I’ll never forget the look on Hayden’s face as he sat there, milk dripping down onto his favorite T-shirt. Metallica, like the one I wore now. I saw the knowledge wash over him that nothing was going to change, that things would perhaps be even worse than he’d thought. That Ryan wasn’t going to help him. And as the sound of people laughing grew louder, once the other kids saw what had happened, I realized he was probably right.

  I thought about that moment as I stepped into the cafeteria for the first time since Hayden died. I’d spent most of the morning nodding off in my classes, but there was this kind of protective bubble around me—I could tell none of the teachers wanted to say anything to me because of Hayden. The kids were friendlier, though—people said hi to me in the halls who’d never spoken to me before, and some even complimented my T-shirt. This strange attention from people who used to ignore me was confusing. It was almost as if they were treating me like a celebrity. Best-friend-of-dead-guy = famous. Like it was some kind of accomplishment.

  Before, everyone pretty much had left me alone. I didn’t fit into any of the groups—I wasn’t a grind like the brainiacs in my classes, who looked down on Hayden because they thought he was stupid; I was too uncoordinated for sports but big enough to be hard to knock over; I wasn’t artsy or creative or talented at anything; it turned out that the kids in the gaming club were way too dorky, and they weren’t into music like Hayden and I were. And the kids who were into the music we liked looked down on anyone who was into gaming. We couldn’t win.

  Anyone who was anyone at this school fit in somewhere, even if the lines were fluid—jock brainiacs were still cool, the kids who had the best drugs could hang out with anyone, that sort of thing. Parties were fair game for anyone as far as I knew, though Hayden and I hadn’t ventured into that scene very much. Until we did, and look where that had gotten us. No, after that day in the cafeteria I’d figured out it was safest to stick with Hayden, and apparently the whole school agreed with me. Some days I wondered whether, if it wasn’t for him, I would ever talk to a single person.

  Now I was a spectacle. I put in my headphones so I wouldn’t have to hear people talking about me as I walked through the cafeteria with my tray, nodding occasionally to the random people who waved as if they knew me. I headed for the table in the back where I used to sit with Hayden, looking for Astrid as I went. I thought I remembered seeing flashes of her blond hair at lunch before, but it might have just been wishful thinking, because I made it to the table without seeing her. I sat down and forced myself to doctor up a hot dog as best as I could, drowning it in ketchup, mustard, and relish to hide the sight of its unnatural pinkness. Which meant that condiments squirted everywhere as soon as my teeth clamped into the roll. I could feel the bright green relish dribbling down my face and onto the Metallica T-shirt. At least I was alone. One of the perks of having no friends was that no one was there to see you squirt condiments all over yourself.

  Except I wasn’t really alone. “Do you have any idea what’s in those things?” Astrid said, from over my shoulder.

  I finished chewing and grabbed a napkin to wipe off the relish. Astrid plunked herself down in the seat across from me. Way to make an impression, Sam, I thought, but what did it matter? She had that hipster boyfriend anyway. “I try not to think about it,” I said.

  “That’s probably for the best. First day back?”

  I nodded, wanting to think of something witty to say, but I had nothing. “Do we have the same lunch period?”

  “Looks like it, Captain Obvious.” She grinned, but I still felt like an idiot. “Want to come sit with my friends?” She pointed at a table a few rows over and back from where I was sitting. There was a group of kids there I’d seen before, part of the artsy crowd. They spent a lot of time in the studio on the upper level and at a coffee shop in South Branch, the next town over, listening to slam poetry or whatever. It wasn’t my scene. I wasn’t even sure what slam poetry was.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, trying to dab at the relish without making more of a mess.

  “Why not?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Could she not see that I’d just made a total mess of myself? I tried to think of something normal to say. “Um, new people, you know. Not sure I’m ready. I mean,” I panicked, “not you or anything. I just—” I could tell I wasn’t succeeding at trying to sound normal.

  “I get it,” she said, tugging at a red streak I hadn’t remembered being in her hair the other day. I wondered how she knew exactly where it was until I realized it was an extension. How awesome, to be able to change the color of your hair whenever you wanted. She was wearing bright red lipstick to match and it made her eyes look almost unnaturally green. “You should give them a chance sometime, though. They kind of adopted me when I needed some new friends.”

  She didn’t have to add “like you do”—it was implied. I wondered why she’d have needed new friends, but I wasn’t sure how to ask. I looked back over at the table and saw Eric sitting there. Great.

  “Don’t get all judgmental because they’re into different stuff than you are. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Hayden: I bet you have more in common with some of them than you think.”

  Instantly I felt a burst of jealousy, which was ridiculous. Like retroactively, as if Hayden had already found better, cooler friends and left me behind.

  Except that’s not how he’d left me behind. His way was worse.

  “How did you know him?” I asked. I guess the easiest way was just to say it.

  “Hayden?” She hesitated. “Oh, you know. From around. School, you know.”

  But Hayden wasn�
��t really around. And I was sure he’d have told me if someone like her was in his classes. Was she even in the same grade as us? For some reason she didn’t want to tell me how she knew him, but I had no idea why.

  “Come over and sit,” she said, still twirling her hair extension. “Maybe you need new friends too.” She must have seen the look on my face, though, because she added, “I’m not trying to get you to replace Hayden.”

  “I know,” I said. I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t interested, but I just couldn’t handle meeting a whole bunch of new people. I wasn’t feeling ready yet. It was confusing enough just meeting her. “But not today, okay? Some other time?”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, though I wasn’t sure she really meant it until she added, “There’s a party Friday night. Give me your phone.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bossy?” I said, but I handed my phone over. Our hands touched as she took it from me, and I could swear I felt a spark. It was probably just static.

  She smiled again, and the jewel in her lip ring glittered. “All the time. See you Friday.”

  I didn’t want her to leave, though. “So I watched that movie you told me about? Donnie Darko?”

  “And? What did you think?” She leaned forward and looked right at me. It seemed like she was actually interested.

  Except now I had to say something interesting. I wasn’t sure what, but I’d brought it up, so I had to say something. Still—time travel, giant rabbits? It was kind of hard to follow. I knew the main character ultimately died, but he wasn’t unhappy about it, and I wondered if that’s why she’d suggested it. “It was weird. I think I liked it, but I’m not really sure why.”

  Astrid laughed. She had a great laugh—not some stupid giggle, but a real laugh. I bet Eric could always tell when he was really being funny, and I felt jealous again. “It’s a wacky movie. But I figured you like sci-fi stuff, right? And something about the way he accepted what he had to do, it made him seem brave. Like how I thought Hayden was.”

  Hayden? Brave? “Really?” I asked. I tried not to sound too skeptical, but I wasn’t sure we were talking about the same person. Especially not after what he’d just done.

  She shrugged. “That’s just how I saw him. He took a lot of crap from people, but he always seemed so, I don’t know, stoic about it. I always thought he hadn’t let it get him down. Guess I was wrong, though.”

  The thing was, she wasn’t. That had always been my take, too. I just hadn’t thought of that as bravery. It just seemed like he’d put up a wall so he wouldn’t have to deal with what was happening. And, of course, I hadn’t factored in that everyone has a breaking point.

  “Did you buy that figurine?” Astrid asked. All these questions she was asking—I’d never had someone take such an interest in my life before. Certainly not a girl.

  “Yes.” I was tempted to tell her about the other night, but I didn’t want her to think I was crazy. Not when it seemed like we were on the verge of actually being friends. “It was a good idea. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Glad to help out.”

  I wondered again how she understood things so well, what she’d been through that made her seem to automatically get it. Or was that just her? I desperately wanted to know more. And though there was something that felt kind of disloyal in thinking so much about another person after I’d just lost my best friend, I had to think Hayden would have approved. He’d liked her too, after all. Though I wasn’t sure how much. Why hadn’t he introduced us?

  The bell rang, signaling the start of fifth period. Astrid looked at the disgusting remains of my hot dog, post–condiment explosion. “I’m sorry I kept you from eating your lunch. And it looks so . . . appetizing.” Was I crazy, or did she seem not that sorry?

  I picked up a damp, cold french fry and made a spectacle of chomping on it, glad to have the distraction. “What a waste of a delicious meal,” I said, then decided to be bold. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation finally getting to me, but the words came out of my mouth before I could overthink it. “Someday I’ll introduce you to the best french fries in Libertyville.” My face felt hot and I prayed I wouldn’t start sweating.

  “You’re sure I haven’t met them yet? I consider myself something of a french fry expert.”

  “Positive,” I said.

  “Someday, then,” she said with a wink, and then she walked away.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  USUALLY FIFTH PERIOD WAS MY English class, but I’d gotten a note in homeroom saying I needed to go meet with the school guidance counselor. I’d met Mr. Beaumont at some meetings the school made us have when we were freshmen, to get us thinking about what kinds of electives we’d want to take. I remembered him being a little guy, a lot shorter than me, dressed more casually than the other administrators, in jeans and a sweater. I figured he was trying to make students think he was cool, though it seemed like maybe he was trying too hard.

  He was expecting me; the door was open when I got to his office and he was standing near it, hand outstretched. “Hi, Sam,” he said, and waited for me to shake. Weird to have a school official shaking hands, but whatever, so I did it. “Nice to see you again. Have a seat.”

  His office didn’t look like any office at school I’d ever seen. There was a desk, but it was pushed over into the corner, and in the middle of the room were two big chairs that actually looked pretty comfortable, with a small coffee table between them, and a candy dish filled with M&M’s. I’d only eaten that one french fry and catastrophic bite of hot dog, so I was starving.

  Mr. Beaumont must have seen me notice them. He sat down in one of the chairs and said, “Take as many as you want. Need some water?”

  I sat in the chair across from him, stuffed a handful of M&M’s in my mouth, and shook my head. This had the added benefit of saving me from having to say anything right away, since I didn’t really see the point of me being here.

  “I wanted to reach out to you, see how you’re doing,” he said. “You know, we’re all devastated by what happened, as I’m sure you are. It might make you feel better to talk about it.”

  Not a chance. “I don’t see how,” I said.

  “I’m sure it must seem that way right now. But can we just try? Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t, but either way, we’ll know.”

  I shrugged. Obviously he wasn’t going to let me out of here until I said something.

  “I understand you two were very close,” Mr. Beaumont said.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” I said.

  “What’s another way?”

  I shrugged. How was I supposed to describe my relationship with Hayden? He was my best friend. My only friend. And I’d thought it might be time for that to change, and he hadn’t, and now he was gone. I wasn’t about to sit here for however long he made me stay and get into that.

  “Can you describe your friendship to me at all?” he asked gently.

  What did he expect me to say? That we were both socially awkward misfits? That we’d saved each other from loneliness for a really long time, and now that was over? “We were friends. What else am I supposed to say?” My knee was bouncing up and down, almost as if I had no control over it. I really didn’t want to be here.

  “Was he your only friend?”

  Now my knee was even more out of control. I willed it to stop shaking before Mr. Beaumont noticed. “I guess.”

  “And you were his? Only friend?” His voice was getting quieter and quieter, as if he knew the questions would be hard to hear, no matter at what volume. But despite him trying to soften me up, I could feel myself getting angry, blood heating up my face. He must have seen it, too, because he didn’t wait for me to say anything. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard to talk about Hayden. I’ll give you some things to read for later on, when you feel like it.” He gave me a ma
nila envelope; I didn’t bother opening it, just stuck it in my backpack. “I understand you’re probably sad and confused, and probably angry, too. I want you to know it’s okay to feel anything you’re feeling right now.”

  Great, now I had permission. I was about to say something snarky, but that was still an invitation to talk, and I didn’t want to talk. Not to Mr. Beaumont, not to anyone.

  Mr. Beaumont must have been some kind of mind reader, though. “I see that you’re not eager to talk to me about this, and that’s fine. I want to be a resource for you, but only if you want me to be. I do think it would help you to talk to someone, though, so maybe we could talk about who that might be?”

  He knew how to find the soft spots. I couldn’t really talk to Mom; she was so busy at work with all those extra shifts, and no matter what I said she’d worry, and she was worried enough already. Rachel wouldn’t be any help, and though Astrid had the potential to be a new friend, I didn’t want to think about her as a confidante, not like this. There wasn’t really anyone else. I looked down at the floor. Mr. Beaumont had put a big Persian rug over the gray industrial carpeting. He was trying pretty hard. “There’s no one else,” I said finally.

  “Well, if that’s the case, I hope you’ll at least consider me as an option,” he said. “Maybe we can talk a little less about Hayden and a little bit more about you, for now? I can stop trying to guess how you’re feeling if you just tell me.”