Tragedy Girl

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  Then she turns and runs down the hall, her shoes tap-tap-tapping against the linoleum as she buries her face in her hands.

  As we watch her disappear into the crowd, Blake’s eyes narrow. “She’s never been anything but a pain in my ass,” he says, his voice hard and gravelly. “A goddamn pain in my ass.”

  “She’s gone,” Lauren says.

  My eyes dart from her face to Melanie’s and back again as I approach them at the lunch table. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean Natalie wasn’t in our second-period class,” she says. “Word is she hightailed it out of school as soon as she was caught planting the note this morning.”

  I put my tray on the table and take my seat, though I know I won’t be able to choke down even a bite.

  “Has Jamie heard?” I ask. “I haven’t seen him at all today.”

  Melanie sighs. “Poor Jamie. I’ve cornered him at least three times and he won’t even talk about it. He just shakes his head and says, ‘Whatever, just drop it, there’s nothing to say.’” She snorts. “Tell that to the rest of the school. It’s all anybody else is talking about. I guess you were right, Anne.Tell a couple of people, and before long the whole school’s talking about it.”

  “It didn’t help that Blake made a scene at the locker,” I mutter, picking up a limp fry and then dropping it back onto the tray.

  “What was he supposed to do?” Melanie asks. “He caught her red-handed!”

  “I dunno,” I say. “He just goes a little … ballistic sometimes. If he’d been a little more discreet—if he’d been the slightest bit discreet—we could have wrapped all of this up privately and moved on. And why was he staking out your locker anyway, Mel? Did you even ask him to?”

  She thinks about it, then waves a hand impatiently. “No, but I’m glad he did. It was a good idea; I guess it was just a matter of time before another note turned up.”

  “Maybe … ” I murmur.

  Lauren looks at me quizzically. “Why are you hating on Blake all of a sudden? God knows he annoys the hell out of me—so darn earnest—but aren’t you glad he got to the bottom of this?”

  “Uh,” Melanie interjects, “considering I’m the one who was getting the notes, I think I’m the only one qualified to answer that question. Yes, I’m doing the happy dance that the mystery is solved.”

  I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Except that it isn’t,” I say, more to myself than the others.

  They lean in closer.

  “What do you mean?” Melanie asks.

  I pause, then shrug. “It still doesn’t make any sense. Why would Natalie want to break up you and Jamie? And why did she react so strangely at the locker? She really did act clueless about what the notes said. And who’s this other girl she’s talking about?”

  “You mean the fantasy girl who doesn’t exist?” Melanie says.

  “Why would that be so far-fetched?” I ask. “Blake says he and Jamie have been getting hate mail from people at Cara’s school.”

  Mel shakes her head briskly. “Natalie has established herself as a lunatic. What did you expect her to do, admit it? I don’t get why you think it would be so shocking for her to lie.”

  I stare blankly into space. “I just wouldn’t expect her to lie so well … ”

  Lauren looks at us haltingly, opening her mouth to speak, then abruptly shutting it again.

  “What?” Melanie asks her.

  She bites her lip. “Well … there is one theory floating around, but it’s really off the wall … ”

  Melanie makes a rolling motion with her hand.

  Lauren shakes her head. “Let’s just eat.”

  Melanie raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I don’t think so. Spill it.”

  Lauren picks at her food some more. “I just hate fueling the stupid gossip,” she says.

  I lean into the table. “What did you hear?”

  Lauren pauses a moment, then rolls her eyes in resignation. “Okay, fine. This is really screwy, but, whatever. Here goes: the thing I’ve heard a couple of people mention—even before the whole school found out about the notes—and these are people who don’t even know the dead girl, mind you, so consider the source … ” Lauren blows her bangs out of her face. “They’re kinda floating the theory that maybe the dead girl isn’t really … you know … technically dead.”

  Mel and I crinkle our brows.

  “I’ve got to admit,” Lauren continues, “it’s the first thing that popped into my head when Natalie started yammering about some mystery girl, some girl whose identity she couldn’t disclose for some unmentionable reason … ”

  “That’s crazy,” Melanie says. “Cara drowned that night.”

  Lauren gives us a steady gaze. “So say Blake and Jamie. But the body was never recovered. And the people I heard talking—they’re friends with some kids at Cara’s school—they said that apparently no one at the bonfire that night ever saw Cara go into the water. They say it would have been weird for her to go swimming at night, all by herself, and that most of them weren’t even wearing bathing suits.”

  “What’s weird about taking a swim on a beach in the middle of summer?” Melanie says. “And I thought everybody saw her go into the water. Or maybe I just assumed they did … ?”

  Lauren shakes her head. “They said that Blake and Cara went off alone … that they walked far enough down the beach that nobody else could see them … and then Blake came back to the bonfire alone. He pulled Jamie aside and the two of them took off in the direction he’d just come from. Nobody thought anything of it at the time; Blake didn’t tell them what was up. Later, they heard Blake telling the police that Cara had gone for a swim and when he got worried she’d been gone too long, he went back and got Jamie so they could ride out on the jet ski and look for her. It was only after Blake and Jamie came back from the jet ski that anybody else at the bonfire even knew Cara was missing. Otherwise, they’d all have been looking for her. That was when somebody called 911.”

  “This is crazy,” I say. “Why would they lie about Cara going swimming?”

  “Why would Blake lie,” Melanie corrects me delicately, then glances at me for a quick sensitivity check.

  “So why would Blake lie?” I ask more petulantly than I intended. “And if she didn’t drown that night, then where the hell is she and what the hell is she doing?”

  “Sending notes to Melanie … ?” Lauren ventures cautiously, but then shakes her head briskly. “This is obviously crazy talk. I told you, it was just a couple of stupid rumors I overheard, and from people who didn’t even know Cara, mind you. Friends of friends, or in this case, acquaintances of acquaintances. You know how reliable that kind of information can be.”

  Melanie’s eyebrows furrow. “Is there supposed to be some reason that Cara would have wanted to disappear?”

  “Again,” Lauren says, “I’ve just heard rumors, but, you know … the typical reason a girl her age would want to disappear.”

  We consider the implication, then Melanie gasps and fills in the blank:

  “Pregnant.”

  I feel my pulse quicken and instinctively press my parents’ rings against my chest.

  “Oh god, Anne … are you okay?” Melanie says, studying my face as if I’m a mutant lab specimen. “You look like you’re about to hyperventilate.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, but I’m still breathing fast … really fast.

  “Oh, Anne, we’re just repeating stupid rumors,” Melanie says, leaning closer and squeezing my arm protectively. “Everybody knows how crazy Blake is about you; you can see it all over his face. We’re just being silly and melodramatic.”

  “Right,” Lauren says, nodding firmly. “Look, I’m so sorry I repeated those rumors. Anne, forget I said anything. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s ridiculous to—”

  I breathe out through an O in my
mouth. “I need some air … ”

  “We’ll come with you … ”

  “No, I’m good.”

  I jump out of my seat and head out of the cafeteria with my head tucked almost into my chest, my untouched tray of food still at the table.

  “Anne? Are you okay?”

  I glance up at Garrett just as I reach the hall, my head still spinning.

  “Oh, hi … ”

  “Do you need to sit down?” he asks me, then takes my arm and starts guiding me back into the cafeteria.

  I gently shake free. “I’m fine, really. I just need some air. I feel a little lightheaded … ”

  Blake walks up just as I’m about to bolt again.

  “Are you okay?” he asks me anxiously.

  “She’s feeling lightheaded,” Garrett tells him.

  “Get her a chair,” Blake says, but I shake my head, cringing amid all the attention.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I tell them. “Really. I’m much better now. It was just a passing thing.”

  “It’s those stupid notes,” Blake fumes, but I shake my head again.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t have much of an appetite at lunch, so I didn’t really eat anything, and I think I stood up too quickly … ”

  “Can I get you some water?” Garrett asks.

  “No. Really. I’m okay. I just … I’ve got to get to class early so I can get some studying done. You guys go enjoy your lunch.”

  Garrett gauges Blake’s reaction, then says, “If you’re sure … ”

  I nod briskly, then manage a weak smile. “Thanks, though.”

  “Sure,” Garrett says. “Well … take care of yourself, okay?”

  He starts walking into the cafeteria, then turns back when Blake doesn’t join him.

  “You go on ahead,” Blake tells him, still glued to my side. “And hey, I’ve got a yearbook meeting after school, so tell Mom I’ll be home late.”

  Garrett pauses, then nods warily and walks inside.

  “Baby, I can’t stand to see you so upset,” Blake coos, pressing me into a hug.

  “I’m okay, really,” I say, trying to extricate myself as discreetly as possible. “I just need a little air, a little space … ”

  “Baby, you and I need some time to get away from all this insanity and clear our heads. Let me take you to the beach after school.”

  My eyes narrow. “I thought you had a yearbook meeting.”

  “I just need to be alone with you,” he says, caressing my cheek. “Please? Just the two of us?”

  I hesitate.

  “There are a few things I’d like to ask you about,” I tell him, my voice slightly trembling.

  “Of course,” he says, leaning into my face. “You can ask me anything. I know the rumors have been flying since I made a scene at the locker. That was so stupid of me. I’m so sorry, babe; I just couldn’t hide my anger when I caught Natalie red-handed. Knowing how much those notes upset you and Jamie … I just blew my top. Genius move, right? I couldn’t have gotten tongues wagging any more if I’d shown up to school in the buff. I’m sorry.”

  I study his face for a moment, then ask, “Do you have any idea what other girl Natalie might have been talking about this morning? I really got the feeling there was more to the story than … ”

  “Natalie is full of crap,” he says. “She’s been obsessed with me since middle school. This is just her latest strategy for glomming onto my life. Plus, I heard she took off right after getting caught planting the note. She was loving the drama as long as she could skulk behind the scenes to do her dirty work. Once everything was out in the open, she turned tail like a sniveling coward.”

  I cringe a little. I don’t know why it bothers me to hear Blake talk so harshly about Natalie; he certainly has every reason to be bitter. But she’s so clearly fragile that his anger seems outsized, disproportionate, almost cruel, like swatting at a moth that doesn’t have enough sense to give you a wider berth.

  “Did Natalie know Cara?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I think they met once or twice. She’s always trying to run in the same circles as me. I think she managed to crash a couple of parties. But Natalie was nothing to Cara, just like she’s nothing to me.”

  Blake catches my eye, then leans in closer.

  “I’m sorry, baby … did I upset you?”

  I shrug. “Natalie only has as much power as you give her. The fact that she gets such a rise out of you … it just seems like a waste of energy and kinda … mean, you know? It’s like I told Melanie: Natalie’s insecure, not vicious.”

  He runs his fingers through my hair. “I don’t ever want you to think I’m mean, baby,” he says, lowering his head until his eyes are level with mine. “It’s just … the way she talked to you that night at the bonfire, then the stupid notes. That’s not okay.”

  I nod. “I know, I know … It’s just hard not to feel a little sorry for her.”

  “It’s not hard for me. But you know what? I’m not wasting another second thinking or talking about that girl. After what happened this morning, I’ve got a strong feeling she’ll be a non-issue from now on. But even if she writes a goddamn unauthorized biography about me, I’ll just take a cleansing breath and let it roll right off my back. Just for you.”

  He flicks his index finger across my nose, and I smile.

  “Hey, if I’m taking that kind of a bullet for you, I’ll need a bigger smile than that,” he says playfully, and I force a wider smile.

  He leans in and kisses me.

  “We’ll drive to the beach right after school,” he says. “We’ll get away from all this craziness and have a chance to catch our breath. And you know you can ask me anything. Anything you like.”

  My eyes flicker in his direction. “You’re okay with going to the beach?” I ask gingerly.

  He ponders my question, then sets his jaw stoically. “I can’t stay away from the beach for the rest of my life,” he says. “And I know I can handle anything with you by my side.”

  I hesitate, then nod, averting my eyes. “I’ve really got to get to class … ”

  But Blake takes my arm as I begin walking away. “Anne?”

  I glance at him. “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  Eighteen

  “This is where it happened.”

  A sea breeze wafts through our hair as Blake and I stand at the shore, distant thunder churning in a slate-gray sky and waves nipping at our bare feet. We’ve walked silently on the sand for about three-quarters of a mile, but now that we’ve approached a rocky outcrop of the beach, Blake has stopped abruptly.

  “Right here,” he repeats in barely a whisper, peering out into the ocean and swallowing hard.

  I reach for his hand and our fingers enfold. “Is this the first time you’ve been back since … ”

  He nods, and I squeeze his hand harder.

  “It was so senseless,” he says, his deep blue eyes sad and angry at the same time.

  A smattering of other people dot the shore, and we’ve passed a couple of swimmers, but I feel oddly secluded, as if the weight of the tragedy is closing in on us like a fog. As jolting as this day has been, this particular moment seems disembodied … gauzy and disconnected, with everything around us dissolving except for doleful stirrings from the sea. God … a poor girl died in that sea just a few short months ago, stupid rumors notwithstanding, and seeing Blake’s expression now, I don’t doubt that’s exactly what happened. I’ve stood a dozen times or more on the roadside where Mom and Dad took their last breaths, and I’m all too familiar with the disbelieving look in Blake’s eyes, the quickened breaths emanating from somebody whose body otherwise seems petrified, encased in grief.

  Yes, I know the look. The way that Blake is staring into the ocean is the way I’ve stared at the asphalt where the drunk driver r
an the stop sign and T-boned my parents’ car. I’ve felt like if I stared hard enough, or long enough, I could make sense of the fact that my parents could be perfectly healthy one minute, dead the next, just as Cara was. It can’t be that easy for life to be snuffed away, can it? Shouldn’t the process of death be more mindful, more deliberate?

  But destiny can’t deliberate, and as much as I wish otherwise, destiny didn’t give me the opportunity to intervene the night my parents were killed. It must be even harder for Blake. He tried to intervene, yet failed. He and Jamie. They had a chance to rescue Cara, the briefest window to change the course of history, to save a life. No wonder they’re so wounded, so captive to the pain that binds and repels them simultaneously.

  The waves are skittering up to the silver-speckled rocks. When high tide hits an hour from now, the water will pummel the rocks, smashing against them and leaving frothy spittle behind. Most of the rocks are jagged and uneven, but one is smooth and flat enough to sit on. I gently pull Blake toward it.

  “Let’s talk a minute … okay?”

  He nods and follows me to the rock. We sit in silence a few moments, still staring at the sea. A couple of raindrops skim our noses, the kind of raindrops that could be either a fleeting annoyance or the opening salvo of a pelting storm. I shiver even though the air is warm and muggy.

  I inhale deeply, then say, “I know it’s hard for you to be here, Blake, but I heard a few things today that kinda spooked me.”

  Another raindrop flecks my upper arm.

  “That’s why we’re here, baby. I told you: you can ask me anything.”

  I nod and stare at my hands. “I don’t want to upset you, but … can you tell me what happened that night?”

  My hands clench as I wonder anxiously whether I should disclose what I already know, or at least what I think I know. Is it some kind of betrayal that I’ve googled the accident, that I’ve collected bits and pieces of information here and there? Or is that a no-brainer, something anyone else in my position would do? I don’t know; I just don’t ever want Blake to think I’m sketchy. The way people are reacting to me these days, I barely trust myself to utter a word about anything. But even as I’m deliberating, I can tell he’s collecting his thoughts. I stay quiet and wait for his response.