I didn’t want to do this. I couldn’t. The simple task of putting the car in reverse, tapping the gas, and driving the same route I had to school for years suddenly seemed impossible. My hands shook, my knuckles going white as I grasped the steering wheel. My mind was racing along the street and I could feel every turn, every catch of the tire as I struggled to stay on the road. It was so real, so present, and yet only in my mind.
The tree I’d hit had been cut down, the cement curb replaced, or so Alex had said. The only remnant left from that night was a wooden cross with Ella’s name … my name etched into it. And to get to school, to get anywhere, I’d have to drive by it.
I swore and let my head fall to the steering wheel. Maddy wouldn’t be sitting here in the driveway frozen in panic. She would’ve driven away by now, swallowed down her fear and simply done it. She was that confident, that determined. And if I had any hope of truly becoming my sister, then I needed to be as well.
“Maddy,” Mom called as she knocked on the window. I rolled it down. She reached for me, and I flinched. I didn’t want to be soothed. I didn’t deserve it.
“Why don’t you let me drive you today? We’ll get some breakfast on the way and then I’ll drop you off later. Nobody expects you to—”
I shook my head and held my hand up for her to stop. That was where she was wrong. “Everybody expects me to,” I fired back, remembering my last conversation with Maddy. Everybody expected something from her, wasn’t that what she said? That it would be easier to be like me, to have nobody expect anything from you? “I expect myself to.”
It took more effort than I ever would have imagined to turn the key that last notch. I heard the ignition catch, felt it waver as if it were in tune with me. I picked my head up and swiped at my tears. “I gotta go,” I said as I put the car into gear.
There was no point in looking back as I pulled out of the driveway. I knew Mom would be standing there, watching, hoping that I’d let her help.
15
I was a senior and hadn’t missed more than a week of school ever. I knew every hallway and how to make my way from the gym to the parking lot without having to pass by the office or cafeteria. I knew the exact number of steps it took to get from Josh’s locker to mine and could navigate his combination as easily as my own. I knew the gym floor had been replaced last year and that there was a small hole above the mirror in the boys’ locker room, one that looked directly into the girls’ showers. There wasn’t a thing about this school that should have surprised me, and yet, today, standing in the parking lot, staring up at the front doors, it seemed foreign.
I reached out, my hand falling short of the door handle. I felt like a freshman—not knowing who I’d meet or what I was walking into, hoping people would accept me, terrified that they wouldn’t. But unlike that first day of school our freshman year, I didn’t have my sister as a buffer. Today, I was truly on my own.
You can do this, I said to myself as I willed my hand to rise and demanded that my feet shuffle those few paces into the school. I had friends here. Maddy had friends here. And Maddy had Alex. I wasn’t on my own. I just wasn’t me.
Who knows what I expected to be waiting for me inside, but silence wasn’t it. Quiet, hushed whispers followed me down the hall. My eyes caught the pitiful stares of two girls waiting outside the front office. I nodded and gave them a small wave. They quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the notices hanging on the student info board. I think I preferred the hushed whispers to the pity I could feel pouring off them.
I picked up the pace and kept my eyes trained straight ahead as I tried to pretend they didn’t exist. It was no use trying to insulate myself. No matter what way I looked, regardless of which hallway I turned down, they were still there—hundreds of eyes watching me, waiting for me to crack.
With my head down I shuffled along faster, but that didn’t stop the sickening feeling from overtaking me. There was nowhere to hide. Ignoring my classmates didn’t mean they weren’t there, whispering about how I was doing.
I let my feet guide me, not once stopping to think where I was going. I rounded the corner and climbed two flights of stairs, my feet propelled by rote memory. I came to a stop in front of locker number 159 and reached for the combination lock. It wasn’t until I had it open, until I saw Josh’s most recent drawing taped to the inside of the door, that I realized where I was. My locker. Ella’s locker.
The hall fell deadly silent, the muffled chatter that had followed me now gone. I dropped my backpack to the floor and searched my mind for something to say, some excuse … some justification for why I was here, for why I was standing in front of what everybody assumed was my dead sister’s locker.
Alex broke the silence. I couldn’t make out what he was saying: it was stifled and not intended for my ears. But I knew the inflection of his voice—the way it rasped when he was struggling to contain some emotion, how it ground deep when he was angry. Instinctively, I turned and sought him out. He’d help me—help Maddy—through this.
Josh was standing there, three lockers down, like he used to every morning before the accident. His dark, haunted eyes met mine, his gaze burrowing through me as if searching for the truth. I saw a flash of recognition, brief and full of forsaken hope before it faded away.
“Maddy?” Alex said.
I tore my eyes from Josh. I could handle the anger I’d seen in him at the burial and deal with the misplaced stares from my morbidly curious classmates, but what tore me apart was the agony I could feel radiating from Josh. I couldn’t take his pain away, not without telling him I was Ella, not without crushing Alex and my parents, not without going back on my promise to Maddy … the one that traded my life for hers. Either way, somebody lost.
“Maddy?” Alex repeated. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he physically backed me away from the locker and kicked it shut with his foot. “Why are you going through Ella’s locker?”
I shook my head, the physical motion jarring me back to the present. “Her stuff…” I said, not bothering to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Why is it still in there? Why has nobody cleaned it out?”
Alex looked past me to Josh as if somehow he had the answer. I watched the silent conversation play out between them, nothing more than an elaborate game of who was going to answer first. I’d never seen this before, never seen Josh hesitant to answer me, to talk to me. But then again, in his mind, in his reality, I was somebody completely different.
“Why?” I had to clear my throat, to swallow a mouthful of tears to get the words out. “Why is Ella’s stuff still in there?” I asked again.
“I couldn’t,” Josh said as he turned around and buried his face in his own locker rather than look at me.
“Couldn’t what?” I asked.
Josh ignored me, and I took a step toward him, wanting to demand an answer and soothe his grief at the same time. Alex stopped me, hooked his arm around my waist, and gently pulled me in to his chest.
“Your parents were going to do it. I offered to help. I thought it’d be easier for everybody if I cleaned it out myself and brought her stuff home in a box. I figured you could go through it when you were ready,” Alex told me.
“But—?” I asked when he paused.
“Josh wanted to do it himself. He promised me he’d have it done before you came back.”
I caught the forgiveness in Alex’s voice, knew he understood how hard this was for Josh. My guess was that that was why Alex had offered to clean out my locker in the first place—he wanted to spare Josh and my parents the pain of having to do it themselves.
I looked at my locker, then back to Josh. If it’d been him, if it was his locker that I’d been charged with clearing out, I’d have done the same thing: let everything he owned sit there undisturbed on some insane notion that he’d be back, that whatever had taken him from me was nothing more than an impossible nightmare I’d soon wake up from.
“I’ll do it,” I said as I yanked myself free
of Alex’s hold and emptied the contents of my bag onto the floor. I’d need to make two trips to my car to get everything out, but if it saved Josh from having to do it himself, I’d gladly be late for my first class.
The top shelf was easily cleared off, the textbooks stacked next to me on the floor. I’d turn those in to the office, or the teachers, or whoever was responsible for collecting textbooks, once I got everything else cleaned out. I went for the door and was carefully trying to peel the tape off the pictures when Josh exploded.
“Leave it!” he shouted. I’d never heard such rage in Josh’s voice before or seen his body vibrate with such raw emotion. I stopped and looked at him, my hand still clutching the corner of a picture. “I. Said. Leave. It,” he repeated.
I nodded and let it go, took two steps back to give him some space. He looked like he was about ready to lose it.
We’d accumulated quite a crowd of spectators. Every available body in the school—teachers and students alike—was there, waiting to see what I’d do. At this point I didn’t care; they could grab some empty wall space and watch the show if that’s what they wanted.
“Let it go,” Alex whispered in my ear. “I’ll talk to Josh and ask your parents to help clear Ella’s locker out.”
I nodded, knowing quite well that my parents wouldn’t help Josh. They could barely enter my room, let alone go through my personal things. And from the looks of it, Josh had no intention of clearing out the remnants of my life either. He already had the textbooks stacked neatly back on the shelf and was smoothing out the crinkled photo on the door.
“I can help you,” I said to Josh, hoping he wouldn’t agree to my offer. I didn’t want to spend time with him. I didn’t want the constant reminder of who I once was, who I’d made the choice to never be again. What I wanted was for him to stop looking at me that way—with pain, anger, and hope rolled into one confused mess.
“I don’t need your help,” Josh said.
The anger I’d seen at the burial was back in place, and I sighed in relief. His anger I could deal with.
“Fine, if that’s the way you want it,” I said.
I turned to walk away, planning on leaving the discarded contents of my bag strewn across the hallway floor rather than spend one more second trapped in Josh’s gaze. But his next, broken words stopped me, the truth he spoke echoing through my mind.
“That’s not the way I want it. What I want is to see Ella again, but you can’t help with that, can you?”
I tamped down the urge to respond, my good hand clutching Alex’s so hard that I lost the feeling in my fingers. I couldn’t do this here, not now. Not with Josh. Not with everybody, including Alex, watching.
“No. I can’t,” I said, not bothering to turn around and look my best friend in the eyes as I confirmed his worst nightmare. “She’s gone, and I can’t change that.”
16
Alex was in my first period class. I didn’t know if I was relieved or irritated about that. He’d remind people not to stare and make sure nobody said anything to me. But that also meant I had to play along, continue to be Maddy when what I truly wanted was five minutes alone to clear my head and regroup.
Hoping to avoid as many people as possible, I went in through the back door. Didn’t work. Everybody’s eyes, including Mr. Peterson’s, swung in my direction.
Mr. Peterson smiled, the first genuine smile I’d seen this morning. “It’s good to see you, Madison.”
I managed a weak thank-you and let go of Alex’s hand so I could take a seat in the corner. Mr. Peterson wasn’t one of my teachers. He taught American Lit, not AP English like I was in, or even Honors English. This was general, run-of-the-mill American Lit.
The seat next to me was already taken, and I gave the kid occupying it credit. He didn’t raise his head when I sat down. He ignored me and kept studying the etchings on his desk. I didn’t know his name. I’d seen him wandering the halls and in the parking lot, but that was it.
“There’s a seat in the front row,” Alex said as he dropped his bag to the floor and waited for the kid to move.
The kid glanced up at Alex and then to me as if waiting for approval. “What’s your name?” I asked.
Alex looked curious as to why I suddenly cared who this kid was. I didn’t care so much as I was jealous. Nobody knew him. Nobody bothered with him. He was a lot like me before I decided to become Maddy.
“Ryan,” he said.
“It’s fine, Alex. I’m fine. Ryan can stay,” I said.
I didn’t hear what Alex mumbled under his breath as he walked away and took a seat in the front row next to Jenna. But to be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention. I was more interested in fading into the background like the boy sitting next to me.
I shuffled through my bag and pulled out a notebook labeled Lit. Save for a few versions of Alex’s name covering the first pages, it was completely empty, not a single note on any page. Grumbling, I looked over at Ryan’s desk. He didn’t have a pen out, never mind a notebook.
“This is American Lit, right?” I said, trying to confirm what I already knew.
Ryan raised his head and stared at me, no pity, no curiosity, absolutely nothing in his eyes. “Yeah, why?”
I shrugged, not knowing how to respond. Because it was three months into school and I already had a binder full of notes for AP English. Because I’d read four books, dissected each one, and written a seven-page essay on each. Because I had no idea what was going on in this class, and from the lack of notes Maddy had, it appeared she didn’t either.
Someone kicked my shoe, and I turned to my right. I remembered her. She was the girl from the party, the one sitting on the couch crying. I stared at her for a moment, finally recognizing who she was. Without the noise of the party and the makeup streaming down her face, I actually recognized her. Molly.
She used to be one of Maddy’s friends. Something happened to her last year, though, something to do with a field hockey game and testing positive for drugs. I’d learned some of the details from listening to Maddy. Molly had lost her spot on the field hockey team and the scholarship she was nearly guaranteed to get from Northwestern. On top of that, the incident took her from being more popular than Maddy to being barely one rung above me on the social ladder. She still sat with Maddy’s group at lunch and was invited to the same parties, but to say she operated on the fringe of their circle was being generous at best.
“Hey, Molly—” I started to say something more, but she waved me off and tilted her head toward the front of the class.
I had a brief moment of panic, wondering if Mr. Peterson was angry with me for talking in class. But Mr. Peterson wasn’t trying to get my attention, Alex was. He tossed his hands out in a what-are-you-doing gesture, then motioned to Ryan. He didn’t need words to convey his message; I got it loud and clear. In Maddy’s world, Alex took center stage. Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, Maddy gave it to him. If I wanted to pull this off, then I needed to stop talking to the nameless kids in the back of the room and start focusing on him.
Nodding my apology, I took up Ryan’s favorite pastime and started reading the etchings on the desk. I’d finished counting the number of times the f-word could be used as a descriptor and was hazarding a guess at whose initials were in the heart when a piece of paper covered my desk.
“Try your best,” Mr. Peterson whispered. “I won’t grade it.”
I wrote my name and date on the paper. I missed nearly a month of school, and on my first day back, I had to take a test.
The book’s title was in bold letters across the top, two questions posed in italics below. East of Eden. I read it freshman year; it was on the summer reading list for those of us who had tested into the advanced track. Had I known there was a test today, I would’ve dug it out and reread a few chapters so I’d have quotes to support my answers.
I glanced at the first question and started writing my answer, worrying that I would forget something important. I remembered enough of th
e book to formulate a decent response. It wouldn’t be an A, but it wouldn’t be a C either.
Mr. Peterson had given us nearly the entire fifty minutes of class time to take the test, and according to the clock on the wall, I had twelve minutes left. I looked over my answers twice before I put my pen down. Writing those two responses had felt great, like a little part of the old me was safe to come out. An old part of me that was still useful.
I took a quick peek at Ryan’s test. He had three sentences down for the first answer and was struggling his way through the first paragraph of the second. A quick look at Molly’s proved that she was no better off. There was less than ten minutes left of class, and she hadn’t even started on the second question. I’d been to one class, had spent less than an hour in school as Maddy, and already I’d screwed up. I’d read the book for American Lit and actually answered the questions.
Frustrated, I balled up my test and pushed it aside. That sound, the crumpling of paper in my hand, echoed through the room, every head swinging in my direction. Alex, Jenna, Molly, even Ryan stared at me.
“I can’t do this,” I said, and stood up.
“Nobody expects your best work on your first day back.” Mr. Peterson approached me, his eyes wary, his tone a little too gentle to be comforting. He stopped a few feet from me, his attention turning to the balled-up test on my desk. When I made no motion to pick it up myself, he reached for it, smoothed it out between his hands, and began to read.
His lips moved silently with the words, and he flipped the paper over as the arrow I’d drawn on the bottom of the page indicated him to do. I knew what he was doing, knew the instant he turned it over for a second read that he was trying to figure out how Maddy had pulled this off. How some girl, fresh out of the hospital and still stricken with grief—the same girl who’d barely managed to pull a C in his class—had written this.
The Secrets We Keep Page 8
