by Denise Vega
“Reede, this is Erin. I don’t care who hears this. I can’t believe you left me alone at that party and went off with some guy and got drunk.” I took a breath. “I got in so much trouble because of you! You are such a—”
“—oh, tragedy,” Reede’s voice startled me and I almost dropped the phone. “I was grounded for a few weeks for going to a party,” she mimicked, “my life is over.” I could almost see her rolling her eyes. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t handle it. Besides, I should be mad at you for leaving without me.”
“You blew me off!”
“Don’t be such a baby, Erin. You should be thanking me for giving you the experience of your life.”
“What?” My anger rose. “I didn’t know anyone. I was pinched and grabbed and humiliated—” I stopped, not wanting to relive it. “I thought you were my friend,” I said, fighting against the stupid tears filling my eyes.
There was a pause. “You thought wrong,” Reede said. “Now go back to your perfect family and take your punishment like a good little girl.”
Click.
“I hate you!” I said, tossing the phone. It cracked against the back wall of the closet before dropping to the carpet. I slid down the wall, sobbing into my arms. When I’d cried myself out, I got up slowly and crawled my way up to bed.
It was still dark when my parents woke me up. I sat straight up, my heart pounding. The clock said four a.m. I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.
“What’s wrong?” I said. “What is it?”
I couldn’t see their faces in the dimness but I heard my mother’s voice, quiet and sad.
“Margo Foslowski just called.”
My sleepiness made me stupid. Was she calling to change our visit? Why couldn’t she wait until later? And why were my parents waking me up to tell me?
“Mr. Foslowski—” My mom’s voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.
Dad reached over and took my hand. “He passed away, honey.”
I stared at him, felt his warm hand around my fingers. It suddenly felt hot. The whole room felt hot.
“No,” I whispered. Then louder: “NO.” I pulled my hand away and scrambled around my dad to stand next to the bed. “You’re lying,” I said, clenching my fists at my sides. “You’re saying that because of what I did last night. I can’t believe you’d do that. I hate you!”
“Erin.” My mother stepped toward me but I backed away. “Honey, we’d never lie about something like this. Mr. Foslowski—”
“Don’t say it again! Don’t you dare say it!” I held up my hand, stopping the words, wanting to stop what I already knew was true. “Don’t say it! Don’t say it! Don’t say it!” I repeated it over and over, willing myself to concentrate only on those three words—don’t say it. Don’t. Say. It. Dontsayit—until they didn’t make any sense, until they weren’t words anymore but just a jumble of sounds that had to come out of my mouth so the pain and hurt couldn’t come in.
I don’t know how long I kept it up but at some point I realized I was kneeling on the floor, my arms across my stomach, rocking back and forth, sobbing and mumbling, my dad’s strong arms around me.
MR. F WAS DEAD.
There. I could say the word now, at least in my mind.
He was DEAD.
I covered the jar of Tootsie Pops on my desk with a towel.
Then I lay on my bed, rain pounding against the window, like a monster trying to get in.
I didn’t think it would ever stop.
CHAPTER 44
SCHOOL DAZE
THE RAIN FINALLY STOPPED BUT the monster had gotten in.
It was huge, thick, suffocating. It squeezed me in muscled arms until I could barely breathe. It made my heart heavy, filling it with sand while my mind spun with images and thoughts that weighed me down even more—the lies, all the lies, and going off to a party while Mr. F lay dying in a hospital bed. I was angry one minute, drenched in sorrow the next.
I stayed home from school for two days. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. I knew they felt bad about Mr. F but they were still upset about the party, especially my mom. She could hardly look at me and when she did, her face was full of anger and sadness mixed together in a way that made her look like someone I didn’t know.
“I know you feel terrible about Mr. Foslowski,” she said to me at lunch the second day I stayed home. “We all do. He was a good man, a dear friend. But that doesn’t change what happened Friday night.” They had grounded me—from the phone, from the computer, from everything—and my mom only talked to me when she had to, like when I was helping Mrs. F, or she had to give me a phone message, or tell me to set the table.
It was a relief when Jilly came over with pictures from the Foslowskis’so we could put photo posters together for the memorial service. It felt good to do something for someone else, and for a few brief hours, I was free of guilt.
I trudged up the stairs onto the bus behind Jilly on Wednesday morning. My parents wanted me to go to school before Mr. F’s funeral on Friday. Something about helping me get back to normal. Like there was such a thing.
I stood in the bus aisle, staring down at Jilly’s backpack so I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. The fluffy kitty face she had attached to the zipper swayed slightly back and forth and focusing on it calmed me. People were whispering behind their hands as we passed but I kept my eye on Fluffy Kitty. She was my guide.
“Are you okay?” Jilly whispered as we sat down in the back of the bus.
I shook my head. She reached over and squeezed my hand. Tears filled my eyes. I was so tired of crying. I wiped them away fiercely, flinching at the sting on my chapped cheeks.
“I’m really sorry you got in trouble about the party,” I said to change the subject.
“Quit apologizing,” Jilly said. “I’m sorry I blew your cover.” It turned out that after Mark had called Chris and while Chris was on his way, my parents had called Jilly’s to tell me we were going to see Mr. F at nine instead of ten and it was the one time Jilly didn’t answer. Busted.
“But they took away your cell phone,” I said to Jilly.
Jilly shrugged. “Not forever. I’ll survive.”
I told her about Bus Boy, how great he’d been in both of my moments of need, how I thought he wanted to get back together with her.
“He’s a good guy,” she said, sighing.
“Do you want to get back together with him?”
She shook her head. “It’s been fun joking around and flirting with different guys, hanging out with my friends. I hope we can be friends someday, though. I miss talking to him.”
The bus screeched to a stop and Rosie got on, sitting in the seat in front of us. She turned around. “I feel so bad about Mr. Foslowski,” she said. “I just can’t believe it.” Jilly gave her a look but it was too late. Tears sprung to my eyes.
“I was supposed to visit him on Friday,” I said. “But Reede made me go to that stupid party.” I turned away, my vision blurry.
“It’s okay, Erin.” I felt Rosie’s hand on my arm.
“It’s not okay!” I shouted. “I hate her!”
I knew Rosie and Jilly were exchanging looks over my head and I hated that too. “Just leave me alone,” I said, covering my face with my arms.
When we got to school, Jilly and Rosie walked on either side of me and slightly ahead, like bodyguards. As we approached the doors, a guy I hardly knew stepped in front of us, blocking our way.
“Did you really go to Autumn Browne’s party and flash your underwear?”
Jilly shoved him at the same time Rosie ordered: “Move.” If I hadn’t been so numb, I might have been impressed. I’d never seen Jilly act tough before.
“What’s your problem?” he said, but he stepped out of the way.
As I passed, he said, “I heard the cops came. Were you there for that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They arrested a bunch of people. I heard Reede Harper was caught stealing a portable DVD player. Had it
under her shirt.” He shook his head. “How stupid can you be?”
“Unbelievable,” Jilly said when we finally got into the building. “I can’t believe she stole a DVD player. Did you know about that?”
“No,” I said. And I didn’t really care. I hoped she rotted in juvenile detention. Mr. F was dead and it was Reede’s fault I didn’t get to see him one last time.
* * *
When we got to the top of our hall, Jilly stopped. “Do you want me to come with you to your locker?”
I stared down the long hall. It seemed to go on forever and ever without any end. I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to walk around the halls and not see Mr. F.
How could my parents think this was a good idea?
Jilly squeezed my arm. I knew what she was talking about. I shook my head. If I had to face Reede, I wanted to do it alone. I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t handle it by myself. “I’ll see you in language arts.”
Jilly hugged me. “Good luck.”
I approached my locker slowly, relief flooding me when I saw Reede wasn’t there. But Mark was. He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for permission or something.
“You okay?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “About Mr. Foslowski. About the party.”
“Why?” I said. “You didn’t do anything.”
“You’re not mad at me for calling Chris?”
I shook my head, dropping my backpack at my feet. “I was already busted.” It suddenly seemed so long ago. It didn’t really matter anymore.
“I’m glad you texted me,” he said.
Something in his voice made me look at him. Mark Sacks. Former crush, possible former friend. A guy who was always there for me, even when I wasn’t there for him.
“Me, too,” I said finally. “You were the only person I wanted to talk to.” I took a breath. “So you’re not mad at me anymore for—you know?”
He shook his head. “It was stupid to be mad. You can’t start liking someone just because they want you to.” His hair had fallen back over one eye and his smile filled his face. He was so cute. How could I have forgotten how cute he was? Even the new zit next to his nose was cute.
Just as the bell rang Carla came up, standing beside him. He smiled at her. Like they shared a secret or were about to.
Mark glanced briefly at me. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to smile at Carla. I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse than I already did. Part of me wanted to yell: How can you go on with your lives? How can you start going out as if nothing has happened?
And why hadn’t anybody told me about them? Carla should have talked to me like she did about playing basketball. But why should she? Why should anybody tell me anything?
And why did I care?
I turned and dialed my combination, hoping they’d wait to hold hands or whatever until they were out of sight. Flinging open my locker, I grabbed the door to keep it from banging against the locker next to it.
“Omigod.”
The locker had been stripped bare of all but my two photographs and my books. I hadn’t realized how much of the locker held Reede’s stuff until now. Her mirror and white board were gone. So were the magnets that held photos and notes and scraps of song lyrics. Her books were cleared off the shelf. There was absolutely no sign she had ever been there. It was as if she’d never existed.
I pulled my books out quickly, slammed the door, and headed down the hall.
“You look freaked,” Rosie said, falling into step beside me. “What’s up?”
“Reede’s gone,” I said, explaining about the empty locker. And Mark is going out with Carla and nobody told me. And Mr. F’s dead and I still can’t believe it.
“People are talking,” Rosie said. “Everything from her getting arrested to running away to moving back to San Jose.”
I pressed my lips together. Any of those was fine with me.
Fourth period we had a history test. As I bit the end of my pen, Mr. Perkins stopped at my desk and squatted down so we were eye to eye.
“I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, Erin. If you don’t get a passing grade, we’ll talk about a makeup.”
I gave him a grateful look. “Thanks.”
After I turned in my test, I stood for a moment next to Reede’s desk. Part of me wished she was sitting there so I could hit her or wrap her earbud cords around her neck.
As I trudged through the day, I ignored all the party and underwear comments. After the YOHE, I had a lot of practice with this kind of ignoring. I headed for the bathroom before my last class. I needed a quiet place for a few minutes and hoped the bathroom would be empty.
It wasn’t.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if Serena’s sister hadn’t seen you with her own eyes.” Two of Serena’s friends stood at the sink at the far end, looking at me.
The other one raised her eyebrows. “She said you were so magazine cover, she hardly recognized you.” The girl laughed. “Of course, that was before you flashed everyone your cute little heart undies and then—”
“Shut up, Jo.” Serena banged out of one of the stalls, striding straight towards both girls. “Just shut up, okay? My sister’s a jerk.”
I looked at Serena, surprise making me forget how I felt for a moment. But she didn’t look at me; her eyes were trained on her friends.
Jo smiled uncertainly, giving Serena a little shove. “You’ve got to admit it was funny. Don’t you wish you could have been there? Don’t you wish—”
“Mr. Foslowski died,” Serena said evenly. “Does anyone care about that?”
The girls’ expressions changed. “Well, yeah. Of course. We were just—”
“Leaving?” Serena asked. “Good.”
The girls hurried out the door, tossing dirty looks at Serena. Serena turned to me, her voice soft. “You okay?”
I shrugged.
“You want to be alone?”
I nodded.
“You got it.”
She pulled the door open and stepped out, planting herself in front of the doorway with her arms across her chest, daring anyone to cross her path. As the door closed behind her, my eyes filled with tears of gratitude.
“Thank you,” I whispered, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me.
Wednesday, March 24
Dad gave me this notebook. “Sometimes it helps to write things down,” he said. “With your hand and not a keyboard.” I guess that was nice of him, even though he was the one who banned me from the keyboard he was talking about.
It’s funny, but when I type in my blog I use shortcuts and stuff, but in this notebook I write everything out. You’d think it would be the opposite since I type faster than I write. Weird.
Even though I’m grounded, Jilly is allowed to come over because of Mr. F but no one else and I can’t go to anyone’s house. Today she came over and told me she tried to e-mail Reede and the message bounced back. When she tried to call, the phone was disconnected. I don’t know why Jilly is trying so hard when she never even liked Reede in the first place. When I asked her she just said she couldn’t explain it. “I know you’re mad at her but something isn’t adding up,” she said. “Besides, you told me Mr. F kept saying she was worth knowing.” I guess she’s a detective in addition to being a spy.
I told her Mr. F was wrong. That Reede was probably his biggest mistake ever.
I thought yelling at Reede and telling her how I felt would make me feel better.
But I feel worse. Even though she replied to my nasty e-mail with one of her own and said those mean things to me on the phone, I only want to strangle her sometimes. Other times I just feel crazy sad.
I don’t understand that. And I don’t really feel like writing about it either.
CHAPTER 45
MESSAGES
I COULDN’T BELIEVE ALL OF the people at the funeral. Old people. Young people. People in between. The whole c
hurch was filled with people who cared about Mr. F and right away I noticed a whole row of kids directly behind the row for the family—the kids in the photos in his closet. I had found out they were kids he knew from a place called the Helping Hands Center. He volunteered twice a week, tutoring kids, listening to them, and just being there for them. I recognized Olivia and some of the others from the photos. It made me smile to remember Olivia as the “best hugger.”
Everyone who came received an Order of Service program and a Tootsie Pop with a message attached. Messages like, “Smile at someone who is rude to you today” or “Send a thank you to someone who helped you.”
My message read: Make a connection with someone you haven’t seen in awhile or with whom you’ve had a falling out.
Wrong. Today was a Strangle Reede day. I’m not making any connection with Reede unless it’s my fi st to her face, do you hear me, Mr. F? Okay, maybe I wouldn’t really hit her but you were totally wrong about her. She didn’t need a friend like me and no way did I need someone like her in my life. I don’t need people who abandon me and move away.
I stuffed the Tootsie and message into my purse and followed my parents to a pew.
My mom sat on one side of me, with Jilly and her family on the other. Mark, Tyler, Carla, Steve, and Rosie were in the row behind me, along with tons of people from Molly Brown.
Jilly reached out and squeezed my hand. The service began and I cried through the whole thing. People kept getting up and saying how great Mr. F was and talking about all the stuff he did. Not only did he tutor at Helping Hands, Mr. F also bowled on Friday nights and his team had shown up in their Nicky’s Pizzeria shirts. He was also involved in his church and he and Mrs. F liked to fish. The more I listened, the more I realized how little I knew about him. In all our conversations, I’d rarely asked him about his life.
