The second message was also from Jessica.
“Leah, it’s late and I’m worried about you. If you don’t call soon I’ll try your parents.”
Oh, crap. Just what I didn’t need tonight!
Then I panicked because I didn’t know Jessica’s number. And twenty-three minutes had already passed since she’d left the message. If I didn’t contact her soon, she might call Leah’s parents and say that I’d left her party. Fortunately, the phone had a call-back feature. With heavy relief, I dialed Jessica’s number.
She answered on one ring, peppering me with questions.
Where were you? Are you in love with Chad’s brother? Why didn’t you come back for dinner? Are we still best friends? Is Chad’s brother a good kisser?
I assured her we were still best friend and denied kissing Eli. To avoid answering the other questions, I asked her about the fundraiser—but I didn’t like her answer.
She really was going to have a canned-food-drive memorial service for “that poor Amber Borden.” How was I supposed to respond to that? I considered telling her the truth—that no one would attend, not even Dustin and Alyce. Alyce would be insulted about the whole canned-food thing, and Dustin shunned school events.
If I wasn’t already presumed dead, I’d die of humiliation.
While I was reeling with all of this, Jessica asked me the most outrageous question ever spoken in all of human existence. A bad situation squared by a worse situation:
“Will you come to Amber’s memorial?” she asked.
Forget. It.
I invented an excuse about a doctor appointment on Friday. Jessica begged me to postpone it, but I refused.
Then I called Dustin and clued him in.
“You’re joking,” he said.
“I wish I was.”
“I can just imagine Jessica announcing over the loudspeaker, ‘May she rest in peace and please be sure to drop off your canned food.’ That’s sick.”
“Jessica thinks it’s brilliant. And she’s sure the whole school will come to say good-bye to me. I’m sure only a few teachers will show up. You and Alyce are my best friends, and you won’t be there.”
“What makes you think that? I can’t speak for Alyce—especially since she isn’t speaking to anyone lately—but I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Don’t you dare go!”
“How can I resist?” He chuckled. “Should I bring a can of soup, chili, or fruit cocktail?”
“Not funny. I can’t even guess how my parents will react when they find out about the memorial.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” His tone changed instantly. “Yeah, that would be rough on them, especially when they’re planning their own … well anyway, I see your point. Sorry for being an insensitive jerk.”
“You’re not a jerk, and only marginally insensitive.”
“It’s hard to mourn you when I’m talking to you. But I know this sucks for your family. I don’t know how to stop them from finding out about the memorial. Damn, you really have to tell them the truth.”
“When I’m free of Leah’s family, I’ll make my parents listen and prove who I am.” I sighed. “But I don’t know how long that will take. Leah’s father may not let her go even when she turns eighteen—whenever that is. Isn’t that sad? I don’t even know her birthday.”
“July fourteenth.”
“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.
“From surfing online about the Montgomerys. I’ve found interesting stuff. Rumors about a shifty connection to a congressman named Donatello. Ever hear of him?”
I didn’t answer right away, ashamed to admit about the dance. “I’ve heard a little.”
“Nothing good, I bet. He acts like he’s a respectable family man, but he was accused of beating up a hooker. He denies everything of course. If he shows up, stay away.”
I nodded silently.
Then I changed the subject, asking Dustin about his latest campaigns. He launched into the political buzz about who-did-what, etc. I admired his zeal for justice, even if I wasn’t sure about his methods—like the “fake official” website he was creating to expose the use of illegal chemicals by a supposedly organic nursery.
Even though we were talking about flowers, the word “nursery” reminded me of the weekend I helped paint the triplets’ nursery canary yellow. Mom was on bed rest by then, so Dad and I tackled the walls, splattering yellow paint all over ourselves. When Mom saw us, she laughed so hard we were afraid she’d go into early labor.
That evening, as I changed into Leah’s nightgown, I was still thinking of the family I missed and wondered if they were thinking of me, too. I crawled under Leah’s silky sheets and drifted into a sleep … dreaming of yellow paint and laughter.
Another day, another daily schedule.
Only this time when Angie handed me the printed sheet, she didn’t scowl. And when I thanked her, she even said, “You’re welcome.” No feet stomping or door slamming. Not exactly the road to BFF status but hey it was a start.
I stared helplessly in the mirror at my tragic case of bed head. Without Jessica’s help, I didn’t know how to style my hair. So I twisted the blonde tangles into a braid and flipped it out of the way. Then I tossed on the most comfortable jeans and shirt I could find and headed for breakfast.
Mrs. Montgomery sat alone in the dining room by a large picture window with the shades closed. She wore a lavender robe and stared at nothing. She was turned away from the table, with one arm leaning on the glass-top table and her fingers curling around a wine glass.
I stared down at the ruby liquid shimmering in the glass, disappointed.
She must have heard my footsteps, because she turned her head toward me. A myriad of emotions played across her face: surprise, worry, shame.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she said, pushing the glass away.
“You don’t owe me any explanations.” I really didn’t know what else to say. I hardly knew her and was likely to say something completely wrong. Retreat was the safest option. “I’ll just get some cereal and go back to my room.”
“Don’t go.” Her hand shot out to gently touch my wrist. “We should talk … about many things. We don’t do enough talking.”
“Because you do too much of that.” I gestured to the wine glass. Immediately I covered my mouth, shocked at my rudeness. “I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay. I appreciate your honesty, and admit I’ve had serious issues.” She stared down at the glass with hate and longing. “After last night, I couldn’t sleep and finally came down here at four in the morning.”
I frowned at the faint bruise on her cheek, knowing exactly what had upset her last night.
“It’s all so overwhelming,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You can’t know … how I feel … like everything is out of control and I can’t find the right direction to turn. I’ve screwed up so many times, so why even bother to try? I just couldn’t take it anymore and was going to quit my meetings. I poured this glass and … well, nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I never took a drink.”
“You’ve been sitting here since four in the morning?”
“Staring at a glass.” She laughed bitterly. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Not really. You’re stronger than you know. You can beat this—I know you can.”
“You always say that.”
“I do?” I asked, surprised.
“Many, many times. But I’ve never believed you … and somewhere along the way I know you stopped believing in me, too.” She sighed. “All I can say is, I’m sorry. I’m a lousy mother.”
“At least you try. Your glass is still full.”
“That’s right—it is.” Her smile hinted at sadness and pride as she stood swiftly and picked up the glass. I tensed for a moment, afraid she’d drink it. But she marched into the kitchen and dumped the entire glass into the sink.
I followed her and applauded. “
Go, Mom.”
“Yeah, I’m going all right—going to call my friend in AA and talk about what almost happened.” She turned toward a granite counter. “Thanks for your support, Leah. It means more than you’ll ever know.”
She held her head high as she crossed the room to pick up a cordless phone. I had an impulse to wrap my arms around her and hug … as if she were really my mother.
Ridiculous! I told myself as I watched her leave. There was only one “Mom” for me, and even if I had to stay in this body forever, Mom would always be the slightly overweight, always over-worked, mother of four daughters.
Yet I seemed to care for Leah’s Mom, too—confusing!
What kind of freaky phenomenon was going on here? Did Leah’s body have its own memories? Would they gradually replace mine? No, I couldn’t let that happen. I refused to forget who I was. Identity was deeper than skin, somewhere trapped in between.
So why did my heart ache for Mrs. Montgomery? This feeling was stronger than an intense craving for chocolate. Perhaps it was similar to Mrs. Montgomery’s longing when she stared down at the ruby-red liquid.
Weird thoughts, I told myself. Get over it, Amber!
With resolve, I opened a kitchen cupboard.
And poured cereal.
By the afternoon, I’d finished my workouts and spent a few hours watching soaps with Luis. He filled me in on the plotlines while I munched on his delicious homemade cheesy popcorn. When Angie came by, she shot us a disgusted look. But all she asked was if I’d done my exercises and homework. Wow—she was acting almost friendly.
When the soaps ended, Luis went outside for gardening chores and I returned to my room. I tried to figure out Leah’s password to her computer, but couldn’t. If I could read through her emails it would help to know her better, save me from any embarrassing mistakes.
Once school was over, my phone started ringing—Jessica, Chad, Kat and Eli. I let the machine pick up for the first three, but when I saw Eli’s name on the caller ID, I couldn’t grab the phone fast enough. We talked, nothing serious, just casual stuff that seemed more interesting when shared with Eli. I had to admit, even to myself, that I was falling for him. How could Leah have preferred Chad?
After I hung up, I sat on Leah’s bed and thought about my day. Strange, surreal, almost enjoyable. I was starting to feel comfortable in this skin. When I stared at myself in the mirror, I wasn’t only looking at Leah or at Amber, but at a blend of the two of us.
AmberLeah.
A knock on my door startled me out of my thoughts.
“Leah, are you busy?” Mr. Montgomery asked as he opened my door.
“Uh … not really,” I said, sitting up straight and clasping a small pillow on my lap. “What do you want?”
He draped his arm on my computer chair. “I just had an enlightening talk with your friend.”
My heart skipped a few beats. “Who?”
“Jessica Bradley. She said that you seemed to be avoiding her calls today,” he added, with a disapproving glance at the phone on my desk.
“I’ve been busy doing homework,” I lied.
“Is it done?”
I nodded.
“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “I’m pleased by how well you’ve recovered. So pleased that I’m returning these.”
A set of keys dangled from his fingers.
“My car keys!” I rejoiced, taking the keys. I could almost smell my freedom, and couldn’t wait to tell Eli and Dustin I had wheels to go wherever I wanted.
“You deserve them,” he told me. “Jessica told me how you helped come up with the fundraiser plans, so I figured you’d need your car. You aren’t expected back in classes till Monday, but there’s no reason you can’t help Jessica.”
“Help Jessica do what?” The sharp end of a key stabbed my palm.
“I’ll make an exception for such a worthwhile endeavor. I told Jessica you could go, and that I’d be happy to donate cases of canned food.” Smiling, he gave my braid a light tug. “Have fun—at the fundraiser.”
The auditorium displayed a huge blow-up of my (hideous!) junior year picture on a pedestal surrounded by boxes of canned food. What a send-off! I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. No one but me saw the irony in memorializing a foodaholic with a canned-food drive.
Even more ironic—the dead girl was present.
Dustin and Eli had both tried to talk me out of attending, afraid I’d break down. But Mr. Montgomery’s direct order could not be ignored. So I arrived early to set up, carrying boxes and bags of canned food.
Every time I walked up near the stage, I cringed at the life-size picture of my own face. My hair was frizzed on one side, my eyes were squinting because the photographer’s lights were too bright, and a pimple poked out on my chin. Could Jessica have found a worse picture of me? Doubtful.
Kat was also pitching in to help, carrying canned food with a cheerful attitude. I found nothing to be cheerful about, and kept busy to avoid talking to anyone.
The memorial was scheduled for four o’clock.
At ten to four, there were still only three of us present.
I knew it, I thought, both angry and relieved. No one is coming.
But then the door opened. Dustin and Eli stepped in.
Dustin held a box loaded with canned food. Eli carried just one can—but it was the largest can I’d ever seen. He’d put a bow on the top like it was a birthday gift. Then he came over to me.
“Here’s my donation.” He had a twinkle in his eyes.
“Couldn’t you find anything bigger?” I joked.
“I’ll try next time you have a memorial service,” he joked. He handed me the giant can of chocolate syrup.
My arms strained to hold it. As I carried it over to one of the growing pile of canned goods (quite a few donated by Mr. Montgomery), there was a rumble of voices. I looked over my shoulder and saw dozens of my classmates, and some teachers, filing into the room. Principal Kimbrough was even there, taking a seat in the front row.
I watched in a daze as row after row was filled—everyone donating at least one can before sitting down.
They can’t all be here for me, I told myself.
But then Aunt Suzanne and Cousin Zeke arrived, and spoke to Dustin. Dustin caught my gaze and winked.
This was insane. I never expected any of my family to show up. I also didn’t expect the next person who walked through the door.
Alyce.
I stared, shocked, sure I was hallucinating. But it was Alyce all right, dressed in her usual black: a pleated skirt and a sheer, long-sleeved blouse over a black shirt. Her hair was twisted in a bun with bone-like sticks holding it together, and her powdered pale face looked gaunt with smudged black eye makeup. She took a seat in a back row.
“Come on, Leah,” Jessica whispered, grabbing my arm. “It’s about ready to start.”
I went with her, still trying to see Alyce—only the room was so crowded I couldn’t see her anymore. When Jessica waved me over, I gave up looking and sat beside her in the front row, next to Principal Kimbrough.
“I’ve never spoken at a memorial before—wish me luck!” Jessica swept up to the podium and thanked everyone for their donations, then added that the Principal would like to say a few words.
Did Principal Kimbrough even know my name?
“Thank you all for coming,” he said in a deep voice that echoed through the mike. “When I told Jessica she could have the auditorium today for a fundraiser, I expected the usual raffle or a game of bingo. But she far exceeded my expectations by using this opportunity to remember a student we all loved and respected.”
Loved and respected?
He had to be talking about someone else. But then he said my name and spoke about my work on the Halsey Hospitality Club. “Amber Borden and the other members of the HHC have made this school a welcoming place for students. Some people move through life without thinking of others, but Amber wasn’t like that. She shone a light of friendship and welc
ome to new students. And she will be sorely missed.” His voice thickened with emotion. “Now, I believe Jessica Bradley has something to say.”
Jessica took the podium and started off by thanking everyone for coming. “Your donation of canned goods will help feed needy people. This canned-food drive was Amber’s idea.”
It was? Not even close.
“I spoke with her only hours before her tragic accident, and she was excited about working on our committee to help less fortunate people. Her caring efforts brought us all here today. I only hope I can live up to her generous example.” Jessica then invited anyone else who wanted to say something about Amber to come up to the podium.
In the front row, I kept shaking my head in disbelief. None of this was about me. That couldn’t be happening. I mean, I’d never done anything special. I was just ordinary.
“When I transferred to this school,” Betina Cortez began, “I was still recovering from a kidney operation and didn’t have the energy to make friends. But on my very first day, Amber Borden welcomed me to Halsey High with the most beautiful basket I’d ever seen. I loved the gifts inside, but mostly I loved Amber for being kind to a new girl. I didn’t get to know her well after that—she already had two best friends—but I never forgot her kindness … and I’m so sorry she’s gone.”
Wiping her eyes, Betina left the stage.
Next at the podium was Trinidad. The tiny diamond in her nose sparkled in the bright ceiling lights. She was small, but she carried herself with style and an awareness of the audience. So much diva potential, if she only knew it.
“Amber welcomed me, too, with a great basket. Then she offered to give me a ride, just because she was so nice.” Trinidad wiped her eyes. “I think what I admired most was the way she listened and really cared. She made me feel like I could do amazing things. But really, she was the one who was amazing. I didn’t know her well, but I miss her and all the special things that won’t happen without her around.”
There was a moment of silence as Trinidad left the stage. Then my cousin Zeke came up. He still had that goofy wave of red hair falling over his eyes, and teeth so big he looked like he was smiling even when he wasn’t. And he wasn’t now. I could tell he’d been crying, because his eyes were almost as red as his hair.
Dead Girl Walking Page 19
