by Cat Jordan
Movement and color caught my eye and I turned to glance down the hallway toward the door to the gym. A group of girls wearing school colors was draping red and black and white crepe paper across the glass trophy case.
Nate is in there, I thought. His trophies, his awards, his team photos. They were honoring him with their colors, paying tribute with what they could: crepe ribbons and construction-paper cutouts. He’s not dead! I wanted to shout. His parents are going to pick him up!
My heart started to race and my hands shook. I felt my temples pound, and the heat in the building, the humidity, was stifling and sudden.
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t ready.
I stepped backward, nearly stumbling over the threshold until I was outside again and the door had swung closed. I pulled my cell out to text my mother, to tell her I was coming home, when I saw Lee’s message:
breathe
I held the phone up to my face, my lips to the word.
breathe
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose, holding my breath until it was ready to burst from my lungs, and then slowly, slowly, slowly I exhaled and opened my eyes.
I turned away from the school and walked back to my car.
When Nate’s father came back on his own a few days later, I felt a heavy pit in my stomach. There were rumors the Binghams had fought about returning home so soon, but Mr. Bingham insisted his wife just wanted to be thorough. However, it was looking unlikely Nate would be found alive. Rescue workers had been doing their best, but the location and the possibility of further violence hindered their efforts.
I was terrified about returning to school, but I had to do it. In the time I’d been away from classes, homework was piling up, and students and staff were returning to their regular schedules. My parents were good about keeping the television off, but at school, kids were on their phones in every one of my classes. When they saw me coming, they’d turn them off or mute the sound, but I could tell what they were watching by their furtive glances.
Haley stuck to my side for most of my first day back, and thankfully no one asked the dreaded Are you okay, Middie?
At the end of the day, I was exhausted. I felt like I’d been sleepwalking with my eyes open and holding my breath. After the last bell rang, I asked Haley if she wanted a lift home, but she shook her head.
“Is it field hockey practice?”
“Um. No.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot and her gaze found someone beyond me. I turned and saw Katrina and Debra waiting outside the auditorium. “It’s the planning committee for the memorial. For Nate.”
My heart began to hammer in my chest. “So soon? It’s only been a few days.”
“Nearly two weeks, Middie.”
I sucked in a breath. The façade of my “normal” day immediately fell away, and I felt weak in the knees.
Of course there would be a memorial. Mr. Bingham was back, and he didn’t have Nate, which meant . . .
Haley touched my arm. “I don’t have to go.”
I thought a moment. “Can I come?”
“Are you sure?”
No, no way was I sure. But this was for Nate.
The auditorium was filled with students; everyone wanted to be part of Nate’s memorial. There was a solemn friendliness in the air when we walked in. At the front of the room, Mr. Z was writing a list of people who were planning to speak at the memorial. I saw Ms. Templeton’s name there and Principal McMahon’s. He asked for a show of hands of who would like to say something. About two dozen students responded and he started writing their names down.
It all felt so final. While I knew Mrs. Bingham was probably wrong about Nate still being alive, holding a memorial for him so quickly felt like we were giving up all hope.
Nate’s cousin Brad was up at the board with Mr. Z. He looked exhausted. “I’m gonna tell a story about Nate teaching me how to fish when we were kids,” he said quietly. He glanced sideways at the guidance counselor. “He was a good teacher.” Murmurs of assent rippled through the room.
“That’s terrific,” Mr. Z told Brad with an encouraging grin. “Anyone else?” He looked at me. And then everyone looked at me. My face flushed at the attention, for no good reason at all. “Middie? Would you like to speak at the service?”
Immediately, my friends and Nate’s friends chattered words of support. Haley put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “You can do it, Mid. You’ll be great.”
Me? Great? My hand went to the photo of Nate and me from the pool party; I’d tucked it into my purse so I could steal a glimpse of it whenever I needed to. I felt safe knowing I had that picture with me.
“I . . .” I love Nate. I loved him. I don’t want to let him go. I heard the words in my head, but I couldn’t force them out. “I . . .” And suddenly the room began to spin around me. I tried to hold it together as best I could, but I could feel my whole body trembling, my grief bubbling under the surface of my skin, ready to explode at any moment.
I hit the road and drove. It was selfish, this desire to get away, but I couldn’t help it. Everything I saw in our small town reminded me of Nate. That Taco Bell was where we’d hang out after football games on Friday nights. That alley behind the library was where we’d park until our breath fogged up the windows. That movie theater was where we’d cuddle in the back row during the scariest parts of horror movies.
Roseburg was crowded with memories of Nate. I kept driving—and driving—past most of what I knew, all of what I’d grown up with. I was far from town when the car stopped moving. Oh, it slowed down first, but I didn’t even realize it until it simply stopped.
I eased it to the shoulder and stared at the red lights on the dash as if they were alien hieroglyphs. What are you telling me, car?
Out of gas. That was what it was telling me. I had a vague recollection of my mother saying I needed to fill the tank, but when was that? Today or yesterday or a week ago? I leaned my head against the steering wheel and laughed softly to myself. I couldn’t even do this right. I couldn’t escape without messing it all up.
I tried starting it again, but it was done. I called my parents—neither answered their cells. I managed to get Haley for a minute. But she didn’t own a car, so she was no help. 911 was not exactly appropriate. I stared at my phone, hoping it would reveal a number for a mechanic. Instead it gave me a last option.
Lee pulled up about fifteen minutes later on his Vespa with an empty gas can and we sped off without a word. The closest town was a tiny place called Lookingglass. It was so small it had only one gas station, which was closed when we arrived. A handwritten sign on the door said “Back in 10.”
Lee tapped his finger against the sign and cocked an eye at me. “But when was it put up? One minute ago or nine?”
I burst into tears. They spilled down my cheeks and chin, and I let them. I didn’t care if Lee saw me crying, if people in passing cars knew I was weeping, if the whole town of Lookingglass could tell I was falling apart.
Lee’s mouth opened and he started toward me and then stopped. “Hey, Middie. Hey. It’s only a few minutes.”
But I couldn’t stop. I cried fat, ugly tears. My face, no doubt, turned blotchy and red and puffy and hideous.
Lee didn’t pat my shoulder or tell me There, there or ask me Are you okay? He just stood and waited for me to finish. Finally spent from sobbing, I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.
Lee chewed the corner of his lip and then jerked his chin at me. “You got some snot right there.”
I brushed my nose again with my hand and looked at him. “Did I get it?”
“Little bit more.” I used the sleeve of my shirt this time, and Lee bobbed his head. “Got it. Want an Icee?”
I stared at him. An Icee? My car was back on the side of the road without gas and Nate was gone and he wanted to get an Icee?
It was so absurd that I just muttered, “Yeah, okay.”
We left his scooter and the empty gas
can at the station and stepped across the street to a convenience store. While Lee ran in to get the slushies, I waited outside, looking around. I couldn’t get over how quiet it was. Not that Roseburg was all hustle and bustle, but this town was a mere blip on the map. From where I was sitting, I could see a few houses with large yards and older cars, a bait shop with a motorboat parked in front of it, and a grocery store. Thankfully, there was nothing here to remind me of Nate. Nothing at all.
Lee appeared a few minutes later with a pair of Icees for us. He waved over his shoulder at a girl in the window: from here she looked pretty, with short blond hair and a round face. She smiled as she waved back at him.
“Your girlfriend?”
“That’s Liza,” Lee said, stabbing a straw into the plastic top of the drink and handing it to me. “Hope you like blue.”
“She’s cute,” I said as I sucked up a mouthful of sugary ice. After a few long sips, my drink was half-gone. “Thank you.”
Lee shrugged and dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans. He peeled open the wrapper of a Snickers bar and held it out. “You want—”
“Yes.” I snatched it out of his hand before he could finish and took a gigantic bite.
Lee’s mouth was open. “What I meant to say was, you want to hold that for me while I put my change away?”
I glanced down at the candy bar, midchew. It looked like a bear had gotten at it. “I’m sorry.” I started to hand it back, but Lee shook his head.
“That’s okay. I don’t really like chocolate.” Clearly a lie. But whatever.
I finished the bar in a few quiet bites and then leaned back against the bench with a sigh. “Thanks for picking me up. How did you get to me so quickly?”
Lee sucked down some slushie. “Out here already. I was working.”
“Working?”
“Are you . . . surprised?”
“I-I’m not . . . I just . . .” I was surprised, actually, nearly as shocked as I’d been when he’d told me he had a girlfriend. From all that I knew of Lee Ryan, from everything I’d heard from my friends and from Nate, he was a loner with barely passing grades and no ambition. His habit of calling me “Yoko” did not endear him to me at all, although his kindness today certainly did.
“I work at a charter thing up the street,” he said, gesturing with his slushie cup. “I organize nature tours for people.”
“You . . . do?”
He ignored my remark and instead shaded his eyes as he looked across the street at the gas station. “Still closed.”
“That’s a long ten minutes.”
Lee shrugged. Then he held my gaze for a long moment. “What are you doing this far from home? Running away to join the circus?”
I nodded quite solemnly. “I am.”
Lee grinned mischievously. “I was a lion tamer for a while.”
I played along. “Really? What happened?”
“I tamed him. The act was over,” he said with a perfectly straight face. “What about you? What’s your gig?”
“Um, magic act,” I said.
He wagged a finger at me. “Watch out for those rabbits. They really don’t like living in top hats.”
“Got it.” I saluted him with the candy bar wrapper.
“So if the circus thing doesn’t work out, you gonna go back or . . .”
I took a deep breath and looked out over the horizon. The sun was beginning to fade, and the sky was turning orange. “They’re planning a memorial for Nate.”
Lee’s neck stiffened, but that was the only sign I could tell he was bothered by what I’d said. “And . . . ?”
“And . . . it’s too soon, you know? It just happened. I mean, god, can’t we wait a little bit and see if, you know, if . . .” My voice trailed off. Did I sound like Mrs. Bingham? Was I holding out false hope like she was?
“You can’t stop people from doing what they want to,” he said. “If they want to do a service or some shit like that, well, whatever.” He shrugged again, but it felt like forced bravado. “You gonna go?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“What are you gonna say?”
I held my hands open helplessly. “I don’t know. I have nothing to say.”
“You’re the only one who does have something to say. And me, I guess. Since I was his best friend.”
And there’s not a person in the world who understands that, I wanted to say but wisely did not. “Well, what would you say?” I turned to face him on the bench, hugging one knee to my chest. “Go ahead. You’re at the park under the gazebo—”
He made a face. “That’s a dumb place. Nate would hate that.”
“And Mr. Z calls you up—”
“Who’s that?”
“Guidance counselor. And you say . . .” I gestured to him with a flourish. “Go on.” I dug into my bag and found a pen and a scrap of paper.
“What are you doing?” he asked brusquely.
“Taking notes.”
He snorted his disapproval. “Are you kidding? Don’t do that. Don’t plan it like that. Nate deserves better.”
“Excuse me?” I snapped.
“Speak from your heart. Your heart. Not mine.”
My heart? The one that was about to crack wide open and bleed all over this paper? I put my pen down. “Really? Let’s see you do it.”
Lee took a loud slurp of Icee and then turned to mirror me on the bench. He belched softly and wiped his mouth. I could see his lips and tongue were dark blue, and I wondered if mine were too. “I loved Nate. He was not only the best friend I ever had, he was the brother I never had. He always thought of me before himself. He laughed at my stupid jokes. He made me feel more important than I was. He made me a better person.” The sun shifted just then and a shaft of light cut across Lee’s face, making his eyes shimmer and accenting his sharp cheekbones with shadow. “Nate kept me sane when all around me was shit.”
The silence in the small town seemed to intensify in the absence of Lee’s voice. Not far away, a pair of dogs barked and whined and their owner shouted cheerfully. I watched Lee, who seemed to have withdrawn into himself with these words, as if he were pulling a protective shell around him.
Profound? No. Heartfelt? Absolutely. I felt the depth of his love for Nate in those few words. They were the truth. Nate was his best friend.
“I got your text.” I wanted to let him know I cared, but he didn’t look at me. “It meant a lot to me that you sent it.” I waited. Lee’s gaze was on his sneaker, on his finger tracing the lines of green marker he’d drawn. “It was really—”
“Station’s open,” he said abruptly and hopped up from the bench. And like that, he was gone, loping awkwardly across the street. I tossed the Icee cup and the candy wrapper into the trash and followed him.
“You really saved my ass,” I told him.
“Nah. You’d have made it to the circus eventually.”
I grinned and felt immediately guilty for it.
“Remember,” he said very seriously. “Always feed the rabbits in your hat.” With that, he was off, back toward Lookingglass, his job, and his girlfriend.
I arrived home as the sun was setting, late for dinner, late to help with Emma or the cooking or even setting the table. The meat was dry and the salad warm, but neither of my parents complained, which made my apology sound even more desperate and my running-out-of-gas excuse lame.
“It’s okay, Middie,” my mother said as she scooped mashed sweet potatoes onto my plate. “You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Even Emma was sweet. “I ironed my uniform myself,” she said proudly. And then she asked, “Why are your lips all blue?”
I ran a finger along my mouth as if I could rub off the color. I remembered the Icee and the candy bar and my sidesaddle ride on Lee’s Vespa. And I remembered his words: I loved Nate.
“A friend of mine gave me a slushie.”
She smiled. “The blue kind’s the best.”
“Yeah, it is.” My heart ached a tiny bit less. It m
ust have been the slushie.
CHAPTER seven
My sister Allison arrived home the night before the memorial, surprising me at breakfast the next morning. She wrapped me in a hug when she saw me. “I’ll be right by your side for the funeral.”
“It’s not a funeral,” I corrected her. “It’s a memorial, a candlelight vigil.” I still didn’t know what I would say.
Speak from your heart, Lee had said. But what was in my heart?
All day I paged through photos on my phone for inspiration. I clutched the pool party photo of us for so long the edges warped with my sweat. By the time my parents drove us to the town center, my thoughts were elusive and vague. I prayed the right words would come to me when my name was called.
A small crowd was gathered around the white-canopied gazebo on the green in front of the town hall. A couple of girls on the cheerleading squad were handing out candles with small paper cones to catch the melting wax. We stood off to one side as the group swelled. It didn’t take long for the green to be filled with people, young and old, from all areas of Nate’s life, but I didn’t see Lee.
Just as the sun began to set, Reverend Platt from Nate’s church stepped up to the gazebo. A large man who looked like an ex-boxer, he held no microphone but even without one, his booming voice carried across the green, welcoming everyone. He nodded to the girls with the cones, a signal for them to light their candles and walk among the crowd, passing the flame from one person to another. Soon there was a blanket of flickering lights, as if the stars had tumbled from the heavens and landed on the town green.
“Friends,” the reverend said. “We are here to honor one of the finest young men this town has ever produced.” His grin was genial, despite the sad occasion. “Everyone in Roseburg knew Nate Bingham. He touched so many lives.”
I heard a few sniffles and some whispers around us as the pastor went on. He reminded us that this was a celebration of who Nate was and what he had done with his brief life, not a time to mourn.
I saw Mr. Bingham standing at the back of the gazebo with the twins and Scotty. He looked resigned to the memorial and to being in front of all of these people. I felt sorry for him being all alone up there—first Nate was gone and now his wife. My mother had told me earlier that Mrs. Bingham had refused to come back from Honduras for the service. She wasn’t ready to even consider the possibility her son could be dead until all efforts to find him had been exhausted. When I’d told Mom I agreed with Mrs. Bingham, she’d shaken her head sadly and replied, “A memorial is for others. They need to be given permission to move on.”
