by Susan Oloier
Layla shrugs, lifts the brim to her lips, and slurps. “I suppose it’s possible. Why?”
“I don’t know. Just little things keep happening. Like I found this red feather—”
“He always liked birds,” she interrupts.
“And I think it’s a sign from him.”
She pauses before saying anything. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re looking for a sign because…”
I wait for her to finish, but she’s stalled.
“Because what? Because I killed him?” There’s hostility in my voice, the reason I postponed calling her to begin with.
Layla’s eyes widen. “No. Because you were closest to him, that’s all.”
I calm down, and my thoughts return to the prescription bottle, the feather. “It’s more than just the feather,” I say to life outside the car window. But I can feel myself shutting down, and Layla senses it, too, because she reaches out and grabs the cuff of my jacket.
“Hailey, talk to me,” she insists. “What? It’s what?”
I set the cup in the holder and run a hand over my face. I cut out the details about the Prozac and the floating feather. Instead, I jump right to it. “I get the sense he wants me to move on,” I say.
“What do you want to do?” Layla asks, tipping her head to the side. “Do you want to move on?”
“It’s not about what I want.”
Layla softens her touch, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the arm of my coat. “Cal told me about seeing you…in Durango.”
My eyes flick to hers, scanning for judgment and scrutiny. There is none.
“No one will ever replace Jeremy. Ever.”
My chest suddenly tightens and tears pool in my eyes. I don’t want to cry.
“But you’re still alive. You have to live.”
I sniff back my runny nose and wipe my eyes on my glove. “That’s what my mom said.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“But she’s not right either.”
“If you like another guy,” Layla says, “it’s okay. Maybe that’s what you’re feeling from Jeremy. That he’s okay with it, too. Loving someone else doesn’t mean you stop loving Jeremy. I don’t know,” Layla peers down at her hands, “I’m probably not making any sense.”
Now it’s my turn to reach out to her. “You are.”
She grins. “Who knows,” Layla continues, “maybe you can introduce me to him sometime.”
I attempt a smile.
“I’d like us to be friends again.”
“Me, too,” I say.
“It’s cold in here.” Layla abandons her drink and rubs her hands together. She starts the car. “Whose idea was the park anyway?”
“Yours,” I tell her.
And in that moment, it feels a little like old times.
Eli
There’s a buzz within the walls of Bloomfield, stares as I navigate the sea of students and the maze of hallways. I should be used to the treatment, but somehow this is different. It centers on me at a time when I believe things are dying down. It also involves Madeline, the one person I absolutely do not want to be associated with anymore. Rumor is Madeline’s sorry for what she’s done to me. In fact, she whispered it to some guy who told some girl she’s taking the fall for Abortiongate of last year. Madeline attempts to restore my reputation. But to what end? I can only believe the underlying reason is absolutely and completely self-serving.
“What’s going on?” I ask Madeline outright as she scoops items into her messenger bag.
“What do you mean?” She plays coy while talking to the inside of her locker, refusing for a moment to make eye contact with me.
I lower my voice and press myself closer to the neighboring locker. “What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re suddenly taking responsibility for the abortion you had without telling me? What gives? What’s with the sudden change of heart?”
Madeline finally looks at me. “What happened to you face?” she asks, reaching out to it. I draw back and she looks around. She wants an audience. She’s an attention-seeking, full-on media hog. She wants others to know we’re speaking again. It boosts her ratings, strengthens her story.
“Nothing.”
Madeline gently closes her locker and leans against it. Cradling a book against herself like it’s the baby we would have shared, she reaches out a hand and lays it on my own. “I want us back.”
I jerk my hand away and push away from the metal, hoping the whole wall will collapse on her. “There is no us.”
“But there can be. Again.” Her eyes meet mine, trying for flirtation. “If you’ll let it happen, Eli,” she says.
I am so absolutely riddled with shock that I only stare in a slanty-eyed sort of way. “Let it happen?” I actually chortle.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, straight-faced. “It’s not like an impossibility.”
“What do you want?” I seethe, getting close enough so only she can hear me. Any outside observer, though, could misconstrue my closeness as moving in for a moment or a kiss. So I back away.
“You.”
I push away from her. “Well I don’t want you,” I say, maintaining eye contact for a few lingering moments, trying to scare her off. It doesn’t work. In a huff, I’m the first to break the connection as I merge with the current of students and leave her in my wake.
Hailey
There was this whole change-of-heart thing brought on by my talk with Layla. She convinced me it was okay. To like someone else. I spent the night thinking about it—about him—and my sadness finally lifted for a while. I liked the idea of opening myself up to the possibility of love (or like) again. But then I see them together, and it all shatters like a dropped glass. Eli and Madeline.
He’s pressed against the locker beside hers, leaning in close. I can’t see the expression on Eli’s face because he’s turned away from me. But I see Madeline’s. She seems to be soaking up every second of attention he pays to her. I can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. I can’t help but picture them together…as a couple. The idea stabs me like a proverbial shard of glass. And, in that moment, it’s clear as anything that I already have feelings for Eli. I want him for myself. Otherwise, this jealously wouldn’t be eating me up, consuming me. A part of me feels possessive toward him, as if these moments he’s giving to Madeline are for me and me alone. But, in reality, he owes nothing to me. We’re nothing to each other. Just an idea of a romance—not an actual one. If I hadn’t pushed him away, stood him up, treated him like trash, then we could have been. It could be me standing at the locker. Eli leaning in toward my ear as I feel the warmth of his breath against my ear. But it’s not. So I need to get over it. Before I can see them nuzzle each other or hold hands or—God forbid—kiss one another, I take off. I don’t need the self-torture anymore. I’ve had enough to last me two lifetimes. But before I let Eli go completely, there’s something I have to do. Before English Lit. Before fall break.
Jeremy
“I scared the shit out of my girlfriend,” I tell Rae in lieu of a hello.
The day is gray, gloomy. The clouds are filled to bursting with the prospect of snow.
“I wondered where you were,” she says, redirecting her gaze from the skies to mine. “What happened?”
“She asked for a sign. I gave her one. It totally freaked her out.”
Rae nods. “I suppose I’d be freaked out, too.”
We stand side by side, both staring at the cemetery grounds: the place where countless people have been laid to rest. Except neither of us has found any rest here at all.
“What’s she like? Your girlfriend?”
I shrug. What’s not to say? She’s beautiful, talented, sweet, gorgeous, everything a guy could want in a girlfriend. But, somehow, none of it matters anymore since I can’t talk to her or hold her or share everything I’ve been through with her. It’s like we’re alien to one another now. As though we’re each a shadow of a memory, and all that’s left between us is a hint of some
thing that once was and can never be again. I have truly become a ghost to her.
Rae waits on my silence for a time, and then speaks again. “At least tell me her name.”
“Hailey.”
Rae’s eyes pinch together. “Does she go to Wheaton, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Steele?”
I stare at Rae. Stunned, I say nothing.
“Is her last name Steele?”
I nod. “You know her?”
“We took dance classes together,” Rae says. “Before I got sick.” She studies me like she now knows a lot more about my life and my history after this revelation. “I was always jealous of her—her talent, her beauty.”
“Small world,” I say looking out at the cemetery again, then back at Rae who is pretty, too. In her own way.
“Yeah,” Rae says. “Small world.”
I can feel her eyes studying me, trying to piece things together in her mind. “She talked about you,” Rae continues. “How talented—and good-looking—you were. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner.”
“That I was good looking?” I ask, knowing it’s not what Rae means.
She blushes, if that’s possible on this side of things.
“That, too.” She visibly gulps. “She must be missing you a ton. I got the impression you two were like soul mates or something, meant to always be together.”
I always thought so, too. But now here I am. “Apparently not” is all I can say.
“Since you can’t be with her,” Rae ventures, “I’m glad you’re here with me.” There’s implication in her voice, and I get the sense she wouldn’t mind reaching for my hand again. But she doesn’t.
I nod, knowing I need to continue to sever ties with the physical world. But it’s so hard. Especially since my heart seems to be trapped in it. I’m not sure how to bring it back to me.
Hailey
I stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the house with its ugly olive rooftop. I had always made such a big deal about the color.
“It looks like bile,” I’d say.
“Have you ever seen bile?” he’d ask me.
“Maybe.”
Of course, I hadn’t, but it seemed like a fitting comparison at the time.
“Who cares if it’s pink,” he’d told me, “it’s just a roof.”
And he was right. It was just a roof—inconsequential, nothing in the scheme of things. And yet, staring at it now, the memory around it means everything.
Serving spoons of snow have overrun the flowerpots, once filled with geraniums reaching skyward. I dig inside my bag for what feels like the twentieth time and lift the corners of the letters out so they peek at me. My hands visibly shake as I hold them. What am I doing? My spirit operates independently of my mind because my brain screams at me to get as far away from here as I can. I hear the voice inside saying, They hate you, remember? But I inch up the steps in true burglar fashion and place myself in front of the door. I knock. My heart zooms, and my legs tremble. But I stay anyway. When I hear footfalls on the creaky floorboards, I know my heart is going to teeter on the edge of my throat where it has climbed and skydive toward my feet.
The door opens, but the screen remains shut. Zoe stares out at me, eyes wide, no expression. I swallow my thumping heart back down. My breathing is shallow, and I’m afraid I’ll pass out.
“I came to give you these,” I say with my hands poised to pull out the letters. One has Zoe’s name on the envelope, the other Tonya’s.
Our eyes remain connected. Zoe’s are mistrustful and almost cold. I look away, grateful to rummage through my purse. I pull out the envelopes and extend them toward her.
“What are they?” she asks.
“Letters,” I say with hesitation. They now seem like a completely lame reason to be here. Darn Dr. Wheeler. “For you and Tonya. My therapist—”
“Just stick them in the mailbox,” she says, cutting me off.
“But—”
“It isn’t easy to see you, Hailey. You must know that.”
Emotion runs a river through me, damming my throat. I nod.
“You haven’t returned a single call,” Zoe continues.
“I’m sorry,” I finally eke out. “For everything.”
“I know,” she tells me while slowly closing the door. It finally shuts in my face.
I turn to leave, and hot tears trickle down my face on my cold walk back to the library.
Eli
“Let’s grab some lunch,” Nate says, slapping me on the back as if nothing happened at all. “I have got to tell you about my weekend.”
I raise an eyebrow, not sure I want to know anything about his life outside of school and the band.
“Where the hell’d you take off to anyway?” he asks, guiding me out the front doors of the school to the parking lot. “I mean, you stormed off like a little girl.”
All I do is roll my eyes. There’s no hope in the universe he’s going to understand what it’s like to be in love with someone. Ever.
“Did you find someone?” he asks, nudging me in the ribs before we head to our separate sides of the car. I wait for him to unlock the door, so I can get out of the blustery cold temps of winter.
“Not really,” I say, thinking back to the gravestone. Trying to forget it.
“Well, man, you so should not have left. The brunette—Miranda—she had a friend.” There’s a weird lilt to Nate’s voice. He doesn’t have to say anymore. I already know what happened. “Anyway,” he continues, “she goes to Fort Lewis and shares a house with a few other girls.” I feel his eyes on me, wanting to gauge my reaction. But all I do is stare out the window as we make our way to the A&W. “So we went back to her place and—”
“I don’t care,” I say into the glass.
“Excuse me?” he says, not sure of what he heard.
“I said I don’t care.” I finally look at him. “And, frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”
“So when I told her friend you aren’t actually gay, I guess I was…”
“Shut up!” I yell. “Just shut the fuck up!”
Nate’s eyes should be on the road, but he sizes me up instead with a sarcastic and prickish grin plastered to his face. “Well, I see you’ve completely ditched the whole anger management thing.”
When I stay silent, he switches gears. “Seriously, man. What is going on with you? I don’t get you.”
We pull into the A&W lot. I hastily get out of the car. I just want to eat and get back to school already. He catches up with me at the door as the bell over it jangles.
“You have someone,” I say a little too loudly for the dining experience at the restaurant. People look over, so I lower my voice. “I have no one. Yet you sleep around like having Stella means nothing at all. You don’t get me? I don’t get you.”
“I already told you,” Nate starts, but I cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. She stifles you. She’s too needy and all that crap. But the truth is, I wish I had that. All right?” I can feel the pulse in my neck pounding, and I hope my face isn’t turning as bright red as I feel.
“All right,” Nate answers simply.
I nod at him. He nods at me, and we head to place our orders. There’s silence while we wait for our drinks. But Nate can’t help himself, he has to break the quiet, say something. “Wow,” Nate says. “It’s not just lust, is it? You love her.”
“What?” I say, looking over at him. The A&W employee raises her eyes to us.
“I’ve told you before, you have it so fucking bad,” he says. Then he looks over at the girl and, in uncharacteristic Nate fashion, apologizes to her for his language. “I mean, you were never this way with Madeline. Never. You are puppy-dog, unbelievably smitten, so far gone in love with her.”
I heave a sigh.
“See,” he smacks me. “That right there. Not saying anything. Not telling me I’m wrong. It means I’m right. Right?”
The girl hands our bags to us. I snatch mine and wa
lk away. Nate trails me. “I’m right,” he says.
I slip into a seat and dig into my bag, stuffing fries into my mouth as if there will be no tomorrow. I chase it with root beer. “You need to break up with Stella,” I say, wiping my mouth of ketchup while changing the subject.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Nate says. “Don’t make this about me.”
“You can’t do this to her.”
“Enough with freaking Stella, all right? What are you? The relationship police?” He stuffs a fry in his mouth and talks through it. “What are you going to do about Hailey?”
“Nothing,” I say, concentrating on my food.
“Nothing?”
He waits for me to say something more. I don’t.
“Fuck that!” People turn toward us again, so Nate keeps himself in check. “You have to tell her.”
“No way.”
“Why not?” He leans in, practically jumping the table to my side.
“Because she doesn’t love me back.”
“Did she say that?”
“Doesn’t have to.”
“But…”
“End of subject,” I say.
We eat in silence for a time. Then Nate speaks again. “Oh,” he says, mouth filled with food, “Apparently we’re going skiing with Stella and Hailey this weekend.” He leans back in his chair, studying the kid puzzle on his to-go bag as if he simply gave me a weather check.
“And when did I agree to this?” I ask.
“You didn’t,” Nate says nonchalantly. “It’s one of the so-called perks…” he finger quotes, “…of having the girlfriend you so desperately want. They plan your days out for you.”
Skiing with Hailey. Spending time with her. My stomach suddenly shuts down.
Hailey
I stand this time, running my hands over the books on Dr. Wheeler’s shelves. I know the titles well. So many of them have to do with helping the teen do this and guiding the teen with that. But I stop when I reach one I hadn’t noticed before. It’s a huge volume that’s out of place in this antiseptic setting: The Riverside Shakespeare. It’s been tucked back in the recesses of the bookshelf the entire time, as if hiding out from the clinical aspects of this setting, knowing it doesn’t belong.
