A Million Miles Away

by Lara Avery

  “If you could, I need you to rummage for a few things.”

  Rummage. Kelsey’s stomach dropped. That was the family’s code word for entering Michelle’s room. They had “rummaged” for things like her overdue library books. They had “rummaged” for her prized prints and paintings, which Lawrence High wanted to put on display.

  Her mother handed her a list: Grandma’s necklace, email password, cancel Facebook.

  “I would do it myself, but I don’t know how to work the Facebook.”

  Kelsey’s jaw clenched. She had done so well at avoiding it this week. She had kept moving. “All right.”

  Her mother sighed. “I love you, Kels.”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  At the door of Michelle’s room, Kelsey flicked on the light. The room had started to lack any sort of smell. It had smelled like coconut and oil paints and even dirty laundry for days and days after, but that was all fading. Cacti in pots at the foot of her bed had gone brown from lack of care. Dust collected on the frame of the print of a Campbell’s soup can on the wall. Grandma’s necklace was easy to find because Kelsey had borrowed it before: a gold chain with an emerald hanging from it, lying on Michelle’s dresser, next to her wooden rings and nail polish.

  The email password was more difficult. After booting up Michelle’s laptop, Kelsey had searched everywhere for some small piece of paper on Michelle’s desk, or maybe a file on her desktop with all of them listed, but no luck.

  She tried all combinations of “password” and their birthday. Then “warhol” because that was the artist Michelle was obsessed with. Still nothing.

  As for Facebook, Kelsey was glad to discover she didn’t have to sign in to cancel the account. Apparently, you could just write an email to the company.

  “Dear Mark Zuckerberg,” she wrote. “Please delete my sister’s Facebook page. People write stupid posts on her wall, pretending to be sad, but they are full of shit. Plus, she will never see them because she is dead. Thank you, Kelsey Maxfield.” Then she attached a link to Michelle’s obituary in the Lawrence Journal-World.

  Kelsey had no trouble crying anymore. She cried in her room, mostly. She cried in the girls’ bathroom sometimes, ducking in from the halls when she could feel it coming on. And she was crying now as she pressed SEND. She didn’t stop herself. It was the one thing she could do that didn’t ask her to think, to remember, to pretend that everything was going to be all right.

  When she cried, Kelsey didn’t have to do anything else.

  Suddenly, there was a strange sound. A sort of musical beep, over and over, coming from the computer. A green phone icon appeared. “Peter,” the name read.

  Peter? Peter. The mysterious Peter. Before she knew what she was doing, Kelsey wiped her nose and pressed ANSWER.

  A fuzzy image, cutting in and out, filled the screen. Then it became Peter’s face. He was sunburnt, smiling, laughing, leaning back in his chair with what appeared to be relief, then coming forward, touching the screen where he must see her. Kelsey hadn’t seen someone so sincerely happy in a long time. He was mouthing words, but no sounds matched them.

  “What?” Kelsey said. “I can’t hear you!”

  The words finally came, as if they were traveling through water to reach her. “I’ve been trying to get you for two da—!”

  There was a green tent behind him, with sunlight filtering through. He was calling from Afghanistan. He was calling for Michelle.

  Peter mouthed more words. They came to her as “Can’t say where I am, but we’ve ju—got set—after going through all these little towns. Is the connec—?”

  “The connection’s pretty bad,” Kelsey said loud and clear. “Listen, Peter—”

  Peter hadn’t heard her yet, because he was still glowing, his movements in choppy poses. His audio broke through. “I missed you—Where have you bee—What have you bee—doing?”

  She tried again. “This is Kelsey!”

  But all he could do was put a hand to his ear and shake his cropped sandy head.

  Kelsey noticed a dark line resting on the bench behind him. A gun. He wore ammo around his chest like a pageant queen wore a ribbon.

  Her voice was caught in her throat. Even thousands of miles away, through a screen, Peter sensed something. His forehead clenched in concern. “Are you oka—?”

  She shook her head and smiled in a mimed don’t-worry gesture, but immediately stopped. Her heart raced. He really had no idea Michelle was dead. He thought Kelsey was Michelle. Here and now, Peter was looking at her dead sister.

  The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, his sad-shaped eyes following suit. “I don’t know if you ca—hear me, but this is making my whole mon—. To see you.” He looked around him, then back to her. “It’s s—bad ou—here. This—” He took his hands out, as if he were holding her image. “This is goin—to help me sleep toni—.”

  He put his fingertips to his lips, reached out toward his screen, and then stayed there, frozen.

  “Peter?” Kelsey asked, moving the cursor over his face.

  But that was the last image that remained before there was a popping sound, like a rock dropping in water. Peter disappeared, and the screen read CALL ENDED.

  Kelsey clicked on the aqua-blue Skype icon, opening the contacts window. Peter was Michelle’s only contact, and he was now offline.

  Kelsey replayed the conversation in her head. Had he not seen the well-wishers on Michelle’s wall? Kelsey vaguely recalled Michelle smugly telling her that her new boyfriend didn’t have Facebook, didn’t care for the waste of time. That must have been Peter.

  “Oh my God,” Kelsey said to Michelle’s quiet room. What the hell did I just do?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By the following Saturday, the Midwest had fallen into a mild winter. The University of Kansas campus was lit up, holiday lights hanging from every lamppost, casting golden circles on the limestone of massive lecture halls. Lawrence was one of the only places in Kansas that wasn’t desperately flat. Some of the hills were so steep, cars weren’t allowed to park on them. It was a walking city, anyway. It was a college town.

  As the four of them plodded toward Allen Fieldhouse, Kelsey noticed Davis and his father had the exact same walk. Long legs with knees weakened by years of soccer, hands in pockets, head up, winking at the world. Dudes in Kansas basketball jerseys jogged past them, holding tall boys in paper bags. Girls in tight “Rock Chalk” hoodies and leggings staggered toward them down the perilously slanted sidewalk.

  The stream of people was steady and exuberant, yelling across campus with fist pumps and high fives whether they knew one another or not, like churchgoers under some blind, divine light. It was infectious.

  Davis turned to where Kelsey and his mother walked side by side, buttoning up the blazer he always wore when he was with his parents, and pointed to a giant brick fraternity house with white columns.

  “There’s the smart frat!” He walked backward, like a tour guide.

  Kelsey wrapped her coat around her, against the chill, and smiled to herself. Davis was full of it.

  “And what does that make Delta Sig?” Anna, Davis’s mother, asked, turning up her manicured hands. “The handsome, intelligent, gentlemanly frat?”

  Davis rolled his eyes. Fraternities, especially in his parents’ eyes, were supposed to turn out lawyers and CEOs and politicians. Once he made pledge, his future was set. Davis’s father, George, was one of the most generous alumni to the University of Kansas. Generous enough to have lifetime courtside tickets to KU basketball games, for example.

  “Delta Sig is the anti-frat frat,” Davis said, turning around. “They did, like, reverse-psychology hazing on us. They just treated us super nice for two weeks. At first it was cool, and then you realize that it is kind of traumatizing to eat cupcakes for breakfast every day.”

  George looked at Kelsey over his shoulder, and slapped his son on the back. “Such a hard life my boy has.”

  Kelsey tried to keep herse
lf from giggling. Unbeknownst to his parents, the Delta Sigma house was just a “place to crash” until Davis could find his footing elsewhere. He went to some fraternity events, frequently enough not to get kicked out, but spent most nights in Kansas City, trying out jokes he wrote on notebook paper. Kelsey had always known how much he enjoyed making people laugh. He liked to quote comedians he saw on Comedy Central specials, or reenact ridiculous scenes from the animated shows. But now he was getting serious. He told Kelsey he wanted to go to every open mic in the area, following his true dream: to be a stand-up comedian. Michelle never liked that he was going to be a frat boy. She would have been proud.

  Oh, there it was. The inescapable thought. Michelle. A little rip in the wound that she would have to restitch over and over.

  “You excited for the game?” Anna put her arm around Kelsey in a quick squeeze as they walked, her bangles clinking together. Since the funeral, Anna had been sending her a card in the mail every week. Not a cheesy Hallmark, just a square piece of thick white card stock. Sometimes they simply said “Thinking of you.” Sometimes there was a quote, like the last one. “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” It was weird, but Kelsey kind of liked that her support came in small doses, unlike her parents, whose new group slogan was LET US HEAL.

  Kelsey took a breath, letting the hole in her stomach fill with air. She glanced up at the two men, now debating the starting five. She kept her voice low. “Is it bad that I’m more excited for halftime?”

  Anna threw her silver hair back and laughed. “Not in the slightest. That’s going to be your future after all!”

  Every time Kelsey went to Allen Fieldhouse, she worried that the pure energy of the people inside would bring the fifty-year-old building down to a pile of bricks. The walls and metal seats and wood of the court—everything literally vibrated. As she joined the sold-out crowd bathed in crimson and blue, Kelsey felt herself lifted. Whether she had wanted it or not, the tradition of this place had soaked into her skin.

  By halftime, KU was beating Nebraska by twenty-two points. At any other court in the country, fans would probably be sitting down, smugly checking their phones, making plans for after the game. But not here. A win was a win was a win, whether it was down to the minute or an easy blowout. They would be there to the end, standing.

  “And now, please welcome to the court… the Rock Chalk Dancers!”

  Kelsey turned her head, her blood heating up as the volume increased, the student section whooping and catcalling. The dancers’ steps were as matched as their deep blue sequined sports bras. Each girl, regardless of color or height, had loose, shoulder-length curls, intimidating abs, and bright red lipstick.

  The routine mirrored the volume of the blaring bass behind it, a lot of bends, body rolls, and beckoning hands. It was also flawless. Like a machine.

  Davis watched the dancers, his mouth slightly open. Even Anna couldn’t take her eyes off them.

  They were hot, sure. But they were even hotter because they loved what they were doing. Kelsey knew exactly how they felt.

  The dance ended, the girls standing with their hands on their hips, legs spread apart in a power stance. Through the waves of cheering, Davis put his lips next to Kelsey’s ear, his breath tickling her neck.

  “I can’t wait until my girlfriend does that.”

  Kelsey felt an electric jolt of pride, watching their perfect walk back to the locker room.

  With two minutes left in the game, KU had put in their bench. The fresh-faced boys added layups and three-pointers to their thirty-point lead. The crowd chanted, “Freshmen! Freshmen! Freshmen!”

  Then, in the final seconds, the crowd began their haunting, serene battle cry. Kelsey, Davis, Anna, and George filed out. The Rock Chalk Chant sounded more like a Gregorian choir than a fight song.

  Michelle had told Kelsey it made everyone sound like they were in a cult.

  “Yeah, but it’s a fun cult!” Kelsey had said, and they had cracked up.

  Kelsey pushed the memory away. The night had gotten colder. Davis huddled next to her as they walked back down the hill to the car.

  Anna called up to Kelsey, using George for balance. “Have you gotten your application in yet, Kelsey?”

  “Not yet,” Kelsey said. “I still have to write my personal essay.”

  KU applications were due at the end of January. She was putting it off as long as possible. She wished there was Google Translate for personal essays. Like, here are my experiences, please translate them into what I’ve learned.

  “I know your parents are busy, so if you’d like, I can take a look at it.”

  Kelsey’s parents never looked at her essays for school. Her mom was too harsh, and her dad was too easy. That was Michelle’s job. Write how you would speak, she had always said. And it usually worked, too.

  Kelsey managed a grateful smile. “Thank you. I would like that.”

  “Do you know what you want to study?”

  Kelsey was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Her heart had started beating hard without warning. Walking through campus, the very true part of next year was descending upon her. This place was her future, and she had always thought it would be so happy and easy and exactly like she imagined it. But it would not be. Not only because Michelle was gone—she would have been gone anyway, across the country—but also because Kelsey was different. She wasn’t herself. No matter how much she tried, she wasn’t sure she would ever be herself again. The next phase in her life seemed impossible. It was impossible.

  She stopped, almost causing Davis’s father to run into her from behind.

  “You okay?” Davis asked.

  She nodded, and kept walking forward. Sometimes she knew she was secretly pretending Michelle was just on vacation. Or busy. Or asleep.

  Another deep breath, looking into Anna’s kind eyes. “I’m not sure what I want to study. I’m not sure about anything, yet.”

  “Of course,” Anna said quickly, touching her arm.

  They continued in a moment of silence. Breaking the quiet, Davis clapped his hands. “Well, I’m tired of this talk. It might be time for Kelsey and me to retire.”

  “Retire, sure,” Anna said. “I think you mispronounced ‘victory party.’”

  “Don’t ‘retire’ too hard,” George said, elbowing his son.

  When they were down the block, Davis wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on top of the head. “Parents suck,” he whispered.

  “Everything sucks,” Kelsey replied.

  “Don’t say that,” Davis said, and took her hand, leading her forward.

  Please just let me say that, Kelsey thought. Just let me say that.

  The jolt she had received from the game was gone, and now everything was lead again. Time didn’t make any sense. She was supposed to be moving ahead, but half of her always circled back to that dark spot, two months ago. Kelsey didn’t want any more time to pass.

  She let go of Davis’s hand and sat on the curb.

  She wanted to go back to before. She wanted to go back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kelsey returned home from Davis’s room in the early morning, still dark, her thoughts slow and cold. She shed her wedges and coat inside the door and made her way sleepily upstairs, not bothering to mute her footfalls. If her parents weren’t completely knocked out, they were some version of half-asleep, at least.

  She went straight for the sink in the bathroom, splashing hot water on her face and hands, and with a dollop of remover, she cleared her face of foundation, her eyes of liner and mascara, her lips of gloss.

  On her way to her bedroom, she paused in the hall, listening. A cheerful, beeping sound was emanating through a crack in Michelle’s door. Kelsey peeked in.

  Still open from her last visit, Michelle’s laptop had rewoken, the blue light from its screen bathing her desk. Michelle. It was a wild thought, too fast and strange to be real, as if she were a kid again, believing in ghosts.

  Without bothering to turn o
n the light, Kelsey slipped into Michelle’s chair, found the green phone icon with the cursor, and clicked ANSWER.

  Peter filled her screen clearly this time, no glitches. But he looked tired. Hollow.

  “Michelle,” he said, breathing in and out as though he was sinking into a hot bath. “Michelle.”

  “Hi,” she replied, and a smile grew on his face.

  Kelsey couldn’t get the words out just yet. What would she say first? Michelle died. Or she could start with, I’m Kelsey, and go from there. She should ease into it.

  “Why weren’t you on last night? Did you not get my email?”

  Kelsey opened her mouth. I wasn’t on because… No. Michelle wasn’t on because… No, that wouldn’t work, either. Her thoughts were all mixed up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You can’t do that to me. I was worried you’d started dating someone else or something.” Peter looked around the green tent, and leaned toward his screen. “I hate it here,” he said quietly.

  Kelsey noticed the dark circles under his eyes. They didn’t match the relaxed way he said his words. People from out West, where his hometown was, often spoke lower and with a little bit of a drawl. Funny that he kept that, even as he was panicking. She would just give him a minute. Just another minute or two to relax. “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “It’s hot. Of course, it’s hot.” He shook his head, smiling at her apologetically. “We carry our gear around everywhere, too. Fifty or so pounds of extra weight, all the time.”

  “You’re not in immediate danger, though, right?”

  Peter rubbed his hand over his hair, looking away. “You never can tell.” When he looked back at her, his arms twitched, as if he wanted to hug her. “There have been a few scares, but it’s quiet most of the time. More than most of the time.”

  Peter looked down, and when he looked back up, he was smiling as broad as he could, trying to hide the fear that had risen up in his eyes. Kelsey knew that game. She played that game every day.