by Jo Knowles
But I wake up alone in my dark room instead. And when I close my eyes again, I dream that she’s riding away from me. And instead of waving the strip of paper over her head like before, she’s looking back at me, waving her empty hand. Waving good-bye.
What happens when you finally decide to tell the truth and no one listens?
Three weeks have passed since Leah died. The Greenes held a private service for family only and buried Leah in a tiny cemetery near their home. Leah and I used to ride our bikes here and dare each other to go inside the gate, though we never did it.
It seems strange to me now, as I sit here under a wide oak tree in front of Leah’s grave, that we were ever afraid of this peaceful place.
I tried to tell the truth about what happened that night. First to my parents, then to the police. But they all said it was clear from the lack of skid marks on the road and the alcohol and drug content in Leah’s blood what really happened.
What really happened?
Leah was drunk. Leah was stoned. Leah was going too fast.
She didn’t even try to take the turn.
She went straight off the road.
“But it was me,” I told them. “She was going too fast because of me. I was the reason —”
“It doesn’t matter,” the police officer told me. “You weren’t doing anything wrong. That girl had a death wish. Just look. Look at the evidence.”
He told me about the scars on her wrist that I never saw. He reminded me about the drugs in her system. He told me, quietly, about the bruises they found on her ribs, back, and upper thighs that had been on her body before the accident.
“That girl had some serious problems,” he said. “She was headed for disaster.”
“But I left,” I tried. “I left her there.”
He nodded and was quiet for a minute. “Your friend died the second she hit that tree. You couldn’t have saved her. Losing your friend? That’s gonna stay with you the rest of your life. Whatever you think you did, that’s up to you to figure out.”
I’m still trying.
If what he said is true, and Leah really did have a death wish, I believe I was in the very place Leah wanted me to be. I think she wanted me to see her drive away from me.
I’ve rethought a thousand times the way she looked at me that night. I was so sure it was hatred toward me. But now I think maybe it was the hate she felt for herself. I think she hated herself for what she let happen to her as much as I hated myself for what I let happen to me. We were both victims. I know that now.
I went back there, to the place it happened, a few days after the accident. There were stuffed animals and candles and letters for Leah all over the side of the road where the tire tracks led into the woods.
I don’t think it was the memorial Leah would have liked. I think she would have preferred a more dramatic funeral, like the ones on her mom’s soap operas. Sam would have been there, looking guilty. Maybe he would have stood dramatically and confessed to what he’d done to damage her all those years ago. And the boyfriend. He would have stood, too, and wept like a baby and said how sorry he was for hurting her. Maybe all the boys who used her would show up, crying and remorseful.
Brooke would be there, too, and Christi. They’d be properly sad and big-sisterish. And our parents would be sobbing down in the front row.
And where would I be, that plain, quiet girl Leah was always dragging along?
I’d be up at the front, where everyone could see me.
I would stand at the altar above Leah’s shiny coffin and deliver the eulogy. I would tell the truth about Leah Greene. I would say she was my troubled friend. I would admit that I let her down. I would explain that, in many ways, we let each other down. But I would say that I forgive her. And while I spoke, I’d feel her watching and listening, trying to decide if she forgives me, too.
Instead there was only a sad roadside altar of cheap stuffed animals and plastic flowers put there by people who didn’t really know Leah at all.
It’s different here, though. It’s only me. Jess and Web drive me here, but they wait in the parking lot. I know they don’t understand why I come here, but they are my friends, so they don’t ask why.
They never did. They just showed up after it happened, sat on my bed with me, and let me tell them the truth. All of it.
When I finished, Web looked at me and shook his head.
“That girl really messed you up,” he said.
Jess put her hand on mine. “But you have us now.”
“Yeah,” Web said. “And we’ll only mess you up in a good way!”
Jess elbowed Web, and then they both hugged me. I let them fold me into their warm arms before I pulled back.
“Thank you,” I said.
“We didn’t do anything,” Web said.
But they had. They passed the friendship test.
Now I sit and look at Leah’s name, perfectly and permanently etched into the polished black granite stone. When I move, I can make out the reflection of my shape, and I imagine it’s Leah looking back at me.
I don’t speak out loud. I don’t want to interrupt the sounds around us. The birds singing to one another, the wind softly swimming through the leaves above us. Instead, I talk to her inside my head. I tell her I think I understand why she did what she did. That in some strange way, I’m grateful for all the painful lessons because of what they taught me in the end. I tell her that even though I still don’t completely understand why she did all the things she did, I really do forgive her.
I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t see all the trouble she was in. I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t push her to tell me about Sam sooner or try harder to find out if the suicide rumors were true. I tell her I did care, but I was so caught up in being hurt and scared and hating her, I didn’t see her pain. And I ask her to forgive me back.
I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she’s nodding back at me.
But she’s not.
It’s me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can’t see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.
In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web’s car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn’t be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to all the people who’ve read this story at various stages and encouraged me to keep going. Thank you to Lowry Pei and Angelique Davi, my very first readers. Thank you to Cecil Castellucci for her friendship, love, and unconditional faith; to Holly Black for the call that made everything click; and to Sarah Aronson, Darlene LaCroix, and Cynthia Lord for their honest and valuable feedback. Thanks to my WWaWWa sisters, Cindy Faughnan and Debbi Michiko Florence, who read multiple revisions and never once dropped their virtual pompoms. To my agent, Barry Goldblatt, for believing in me when I didn’t, and to my editor, Joan Powers, who always started with the good stuff and asked all the right questions. Extra special thanks to my husband, Peter Carini, for everything. And finally, thank you to the PEN New England Children’s Book Caucus for selecting Lessons from a Dead Girl as the winner of their 2005 Discovery Award. I am forever grateful.
A single moment can change everything.
When Josh led Ellie from a party to the back of his van, neither could have known that Ellie would end up pregnant. Now a “one-time thing” is forcing both teenagers to deal with one of life’s biggest decisions and to discover the hard realities of leaving innocence behind.
www.candlewick.com
JO KNOWLES got hooked on writing for young adults after taking a course on children’s literature in college and went on to earn a master’s degree from the Center for the Study of Children’s Literature at Simmons College. She was the recipient of the 2005 PEN New England Children’s Book Discovery Award. Al
ong with this book, she is also the author of Jumping Off Swings and See You at Harry’s.
The inspiration for Lessons from a Dead Girl came from an article about kids abusing kids. “I began to wonder what makes childhood friendships so complex, so painful at times, and yet so binding,” she says. Jo Knowles lives in Vermont with her husband and son.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2007 by Johanna Knowles
Cover photograph copyright © 2007 by Cheryl North Coughlan/Solus
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2012
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Knowles, Jo, date.
Lessons from a dead girl / Jo Knowles. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: After her former friend Leah dies in an automobile accident, Laine remembers their troubled relationship, dating back to elementary school when Leah convinced Laine to “practice” in the closet with her, and Leah controlled her every thought.
ISBN 978-0-7636-3279-3 (hardcover)
[1. Emotional problems — Fiction. 2. Sexual abuse victims — Fiction. 3. Guilt — Fiction. 4. Interpersonal relationships — Fiction. 5. Friendship — Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.K7621Le 2007
[Fic] — dc22 2007025994
ISBN 978-0-7636-4485-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-7636-6002-4 (electronic)
Candlewick Press
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Somerville, Massachusetts 02144
visit us at www.candlewick.com
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
after
Lesson 1: F.F. = Friends Forever
Lesson 2: Forever is a long time.
Lesson 3: Winning feels good.
Lesson 4: Never break a promise.
Lesson 5: Secrets can be used against you.
Lesson 6: All closets hold secrets.
Lesson 7: Everyone has something to hide.
Lesson 8: When in doubt, apply the friendship test.
Lesson 9: It’s easier to hate what we don’t understand.
Lesson 10: Every joke has a little truth in it.
Lesson 11: Sometimes the good-byes you want the most are the hardest.
Lesson 12: Some lies are for your own good.
Lesson 13: New friends don’t always help you forget old ones.
Lesson 14: Forever is the rest of your life.
Lesson 15: If he really likes you, he’ll hold your hand.
Lesson 16: You can’t escape your past.
Lesson 17: If you look close enough, you’ll see the truth.
Lesson 18: There is more than one type of friendship test.
Lesson 19: Some markers really are permanent.
Lesson 20: All secrets come out eventually.
Lesson 21: The truth will set you free.
Lesson 22: Be careful what you wish for.
Lesson 23: When you break something, fix it.
Lesson 24: The truth belongs to you.
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
