The Lonely Dead

by April Henry

  My second beer was mostly gone. My cheeks felt weird. Numb. I pressed them with my fingers. My skin seemed like it belonged to someone else. Maybe I had drunk too much. But the beer was also making me not care that Luke was Tori’s boyfriend.

  When the song was over, Tori bowed theatrically, rolling her hand in front of her. People shouted and whistled. I was right there with them, clapping so hard my hands hurt, the empty cup at my feet. The beer had freed me to remember that Tori was still pretty amazing. Then Jazzmin took the mic. She was more tentative, her voice cracking on the high notes. I went back to the kitchen to get another beer. As I filled my cup, I tilted it the way I’d seen Luke do it. Then I leaned against the wall and people-watched. I didn’t know where Luke and Tori were, and I told myself I didn’t care.

  Dylan was telling a joke to Aspen and Petra. Aaron was talking to Sofia, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, drumming her bare heels on the cabinets underneath. Aaron only had eyes for her tanned legs.

  Justin and Murphy were in one corner, fake fighting while a ring of guys watched. “You gotta stand bladed,” Justin said, turning so that his left side was toward Murphy. “Makes you less of a target and makes your rear-hand punch stronger.” He grinned. “And in a street fight, never be afraid to fight dirty.” His fist suddenly tapped Murphy’s throat. Even though it didn’t look like Justin had hit him that hard, Murphy grunted and staggered back, his hands rising to his neck. He swallowed, his face contorted, and then tried to cover his pain with a smile.

  Maybe everyone wore a mask, I thought. Maybe everyone had one self they showed the world, with a weaker, damaged person underneath.

  About the time I finished my third beer, I realized I had to go to the bathroom. The one by the front door was in use, as was the one off Tori’s parents’ room. The bathroom on the second floor also had a closed door. I headed for the darkened third floor, where Tori’s room and the guest room were.

  I was leaving her bathroom when I heard a sniffle. In the darkness, I could barely make out a figure facedown on the bed.

  It was Tori.

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 9:14 P.M.

  ALIVE AND KISSING

  Was Tori crying?

  I hesitated. “Are you okay?”

  She rolled over. In the light from the hall, her eyes looked wet. “Sometimes I wonder if people really like me.”

  I ventured closer, and she patted the bed. I sat on the edge. “You have lots of friends.” I said. “Just look at all the people who are here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There’s free beer and no adults. Anyone would show up for that kind of party. Even you came.”

  Now was not the time to point out she had invited me. “But even at school, you always have people around you.”

  “But it’s not real.” Her voice vibrated with intensity. “That’s just people hanging together because they’re more afraid of being alone. We never talk about the truth. About how we really feel about anything. Like how I hate it when my parents are gone. How it makes me feel scared and sad.”

  “It does?” When I’d slept over during grade school, I’d seen the housekeeper and the nanny more than I had the Rasmussens. If I did catch a glimpse of them, Mr. Rasmussen was always in a suit, on his way to some place, the keys to his Lexus in his hand. Mrs. Rasmussen was dressed either in silk or in workout clothes cut to show off her slender body, and she, too, was always on her way out the door.

  “I just need to be able to be honest with people.” Tori sat up so that she was next to me, her feet dangling off the bed. “You know what I mean?”

  I did know what she meant. How many times had I felt scared and sad myself? “Yeah,” I started, “sometimes I feel like—”

  But before I could say more, Tori slung her arm around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. “I knew you’d understand.” Then she was on her feet and out of her room. As she started down the stairs, she called, “Okay, everyone! Time to play a game.”

  I followed more slowly. From the kitchen, I could hear her yelling, “But first, shots!” When I walked in, she was slamming an empty shot glass on the counter. She grinned. It was hard to believe she had been crying just a few minutes ago. “We’re going to play hide-and-seek.” She clapped her hands. “I’m going to count to fifty, and you’re all going to have to find a place to hide.”

  Because it was Tori, no one argued.

  She put her hands over her face and shouted, “One!”

  Everyone scattered, leaping behind the couch or into a closet, ducking behind the full-length curtains. A few people went up the stairs, but they all stopped on the second floor. I went back to Tori’s bedroom and opened her closet. It was twice the size of the one I had at home. It was full of clothes, not just on the hangers but also on the floor. I squeezed in.

  I held my breath. Outside the closet I heard muffled footsteps. But from downstairs, Tori’s faint voice was still counting. “Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six…”

  The closet door creaked open. “I’m already here,” I whispered. “Find your own spot.”

  Instead of leaving, the other person pushed inside and then closed the door.

  “Forty-eight, forty-nine, and fifty!” Tori shouted. “Ready or not, here I come.”

  “Too late,” Luke whispered, moving closer. “Here, scoot back.”

  It suddenly seemed imperative we not get caught. But the space wasn’t really big enough for both of us and all of Tori’s clothes.

  I shuffled backward in quiet increments, pushing past silk and velvet and wool. Luke followed me, matching me like a puzzle piece. And then I reached the wall.

  I was tall, but Luke was taller. My left shoulder pressed just under his rib cage. The top of my head fit underneath his chin. His body seemed so much warmer than my own.

  “Aha! Caught you!” Tori yelled in triumph, but her voice was muted. It sounded like she was on the second floor.

  “Shh…” Luke’s whisper stirred the hairs on my neck. I turned my head another inch, until his rough cheek met mine. I could feel every individual hair scratching me.

  I shifted again, but it only made us fit closer together. Then without making a conscious decision, I found my mouth suddenly pressed against his. We weren’t making a sound, but it was like everything inside of me was singing and shouting. I was alive and kissing. Kissing Luke Wheaten. Under my hands, his shoulders were taut with muscle. My nose filled with his sharp smell that was at once familiar and not. His mouth tasted like beer.

  I was so lost in touch and smell and taste that I didn’t even hear the closet door open. The first I knew was Tori shouting, “What the hell? What the actual hell! I can’t believe this!”

  We sprung apart. My head was spinning. Luke turned away. He pushed past the clothes and out of the closet. I followed more slowly.

  “What were you thinking?” Tori shouted two inches from my face as people began to flood into the room.

  I didn’t have an answer for her. Thinking had never entered into it. My body had acted without my mind getting involved at all.

  “What’s the matter, Tori?” Petra asked as she pushed into the already crowded room.

  “I caught Adele kissing Luke in my closet!”

  Heat climbed my neck. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to sink into the floor. I wanted to never have been born. Instead I tried to explain. “It’s not like that. I was hiding, and Luke tried to hide there, too. But there wasn’t space for both of us. We had to squish together.” Even to my ears it wasn’t convincing. “It’s not what you think.”

  Only it was what Tori thought. And it was all my fault.

  “That’s the best you can do?” Tori’s cheeks were nearly as red as her hair.

  “It was an accident, Tor.” Luke’s quiet voice was in sharp contrast to her shrillness.

  “How could kissing be an accident!”

  “I was whispering to Adele to be quiet, and when she turned her head, our lips kind of met for a second. It just happened.” Even thoug
h Luke was mostly speaking the truth, it sounded like a lie.

  “Right!” Tori rolled her eyes.

  “Do you seriously think I would—” Luke stopped himself, but I completed the sentence in my head. Kiss Adele. Kiss someone as colorless as Adele. As plump. As boring.

  “Things don’t just happen.” Tori’s tone slid, sarcastic. “They happen because someone wants them to happen.” She rounded on me. “You’ve always been jealous of me. Always. You used to be my friend. Now you’re nothing. Both of you are nothing.”

  “Tori, you’re drunk.” Luke’s voice was low and calm.

  “Not drunk enough. Not so drunk I can’t see the truth. I’m tired of your excuses.”

  “It was just for a second,” Luke said patiently. “It was an accident, and then it was over. You’re the one I want, baby. It didn’t mean anything.”

  My heart shriveled. Then it blinked out of existence. The kiss didn’t mean anything. I didn’t mean anything. It was an accident.

  I had to make this stop. “Look, Tori, this is all my fault. I kissed Luke. He didn’t even have a chance to say no.”

  Tori rounded on me. “You’re pathetic. You’ve been making cow eyes at Luke all night. And then you throw yourself at him.” For all her passion, her eyes were strangely vacant.

  I realized I was running my fingers across my lips. I didn’t know if I was trying to rub off the kiss or just remembering Luke’s mouth against mine.

  She shook her head. “Look at you. You really think you can take Luke away from me.” Someone laughed in disbelief.

  I looked at the ring of otherwise unsmiling faces. At Tori’s angry one. And at Luke, who wasn’t even looking at me.

  And then I pushed past them all and ran down the stairs and out the front door, grabbing my coat along the way.

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 10:02 A.M.

  IN NO CONDITION

  I’ve just explained to Detective Geiger what happened at Tori’s party. I didn’t give him all the details, but he knows I kissed Luke and that Tori found us.

  “So then what happened?” Geiger’s tone is neutral.

  “I left. Went downstairs, got on my bike, and rode straight home.” I’m leaving out the part about having to walk my bike most of the way because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. The whole thing was a blur.

  He makes another note. “And where was Tori when you left?”

  “She was still upstairs, along with everyone else.” Even outside, I’d been able to hear her shouting at Luke.

  “Did you see anything unusual on your way home?”

  “I don’t think so.” I had only been focused on myself, on how I had screwed up everything.

  Geiger persists. “Maybe a car driving slowly past you, or a driver who stared too long? Or a person you passed on the street?”

  I shiver. Does he think I walked or biked right past Tori’s killer? If so, why didn’t they take me? Although the answer is obvious. Even a serial killer would have found me less than appealing.

  Then I remember something. “Wait a minute. Tori’s neighbor did come out and talk to me. Or at least he tried to. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone right then.”

  I’d been so embarrassed and ashamed that I was barely managing to walk and push my bike. My only desire was to slink off as soon as possible. Go home and forget I had thought maybe I could be like everyone else.

  Geiger looks up. “Which neighbor?”

  “This old guy from next door. Mr. Conner. He used to always be out working in his garden whenever I went over to Tori’s house. But I don’t think he recognized me. I guess I was making some noise, and he was worried about me.”

  “Noise?” Was I wrong about the detective not judging me? Maybe he’s punishing me by making me spell it out.

  My cheeks feel hot. “I was crying. He asked if I was okay.” My flush deepens as I think of how Mr. Conner had offered to drive me home, his voice soft, his head cocked to one side, the fingers of one hand playing with the ends of one of the bolo ties he always wore. When I told him I was going to ride my bike, he countered that I was in no condition to be riding and that my bike would easily fit in the back of his van. I still said no, mostly because I hadn’t wanted to answer any questions about what had happened. Or worse yet, have to sit next to him while I hiccuped.

  “And was your family home when you got back?”

  “I just live with my grandpa. And he was out bowling.”

  “What time did he get home?”

  “Around midnight.” When Grandpa looked in on me, I pretended to be asleep. I kept still even when he kissed me on the forehead.

  “And did you see Luke after you left the party?”

  Does the detective mean that same night or later? Either way, the answer is the same. “Not until school yesterday.” I take a breath. “So what did Luke tell you about the party?”

  “That’s not important, Adele. This is really a conversation between the two of us.” He pushes a card across the vice principal’s desk. “If you think of something you forgot to add, give me a call. Day or night, it doesn’t matter.”

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 2:11 P.M.

  TOO MUCH, TOO FAST

  “Chet has known Dwight since elementary school, but lately their friendship has been strained. When Dwight drinks on the weekends, he turns into a completely different person. He is belligerent and aggressive, and often gets into fights. But when Chet confronts Dwight about his behavior, Dwight says that it never happened. He doesn’t seem to remember his actions at all. When Chet sees Dwight pound five beers in thirty minutes one Saturday night, he realizes how serious Dwight’s problem is.”

  I finish reading aloud and look up from the textbook. Today our class is working on the alcohol unit. It comes before the drug unit and after the abstinence unit. Health class is a catchall for any possible way adults worry teens might get into trouble. It covers everything from firearms to food safety, and it’s all pretty commonsense. I barely pay attention and still get As on every test.

  Borka looks around the room. “So what should Chet do?” She’s always trying to get a “discussion” going, but it never quite works. Recently she’s resorted to having us read the various scenarios in the textbook aloud. At least I got one about drinking instead of STDs.

  “I don’t think Chet needs to do anything,” Dylan offers with a smirk.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because this is obviously something that happened in 1950, and Chet and Dwight are probably dead now. I mean, what teenage guys are named Chet and Dwight?”

  Everyone laughs. Even me.

  Charlie is sitting between me and Dylan, and for a minute our eyes catch. He frowns, and I look away. Even though I promised to talk to him, I have been avoiding him, coming in late to class and leaving as soon as the bell rings.

  I’ve also been trying to keep my head down, to not notice the stares and whispers. Now people know what happened and how I forced myself on Luke at Tori’s party. And I’ve eavesdropped on the stories about what happened after I left. Tori told Luke she didn’t want to see him again. He tried to reason with her, but she just ordered him out of the house. Then she partied with a vengeance—dirty dancing with some of the guys, even at one point dropping the straps on her dress and flashing everyone.

  And then sometime after that, Tori disappeared. The only reason things aren’t worse for me is that people are busy speculating about who might have killed her.

  Now Borka sighs. “The names may sound old-fashioned, but the problems with drinking too much don’t change. If you drink, it lowers your inhibitions. You might end up doing things you wouldn’t normally do, like driving drunk or having unprotected sex.”

  “Duh—that’s why people get drunk!” Dylan stage-whispers, to giggles.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie’s disapproving face. He’s not looking at Borka. He’s looking at me. He must be thinking about me and Luke. Probably wondering if I was drunk when I kissed Luke. Whic
h I definitely was. I switch my gaze to the white acoustic-tile ceiling. There’s a pencil lodged right above Borka’s head.

  She soldiers on, reading from a printout. “Even walking is more risky if you’ve been drinking. In 2000, one third of pedestrians killed in traffic accidents were drunk. And if you drink a lot at one time, you could end up getting alcohol poisoning, which affects your involuntary reflexes. That includes the gag reflex and even breathing.” She repeats the word for emphasis. “Breathing! In worst-case scenarios, alcohol poisoning can kill you. Every fall, there are sad stories about college freshmen who drink all night, go to bed, and never wake up. And in between being drunk and alcohol poisoning are blackouts.”

  So-and-so got blackout Saturday. I’ve heard that said a lot on Monday mornings. In the tellings, it’s always amusing. Or at least interesting.

  “And you don’t need to be an alcoholic to experience blackouts,” she continues. “All you have to do is drink too much too fast. If you gulp drinks or drink on an empty stomach, then your blood alcohol content goes up fast. And at some point your brain can’t transfer short-term memories to long-term memory. Basically, after a blackout, you wake up and you can’t remember what you said, where you were, what you did.”

  “I knew someone who blacked out, but she was just fun!” Aspen smiles. “She got up on a table and did this whole act, just like a stand-up comedian. Only the next day, she didn’t remember anything about it.”

  “That might seem like fun, but what if she had ended up with some stranger who didn’t have her best interests at heart?” Borka leans forward, eager to engage. “Or if she had gotten behind the wheel? When you’re in a blackout, you could be doing anything from just talking to vandalizing a building. All because you were drunk and without any inhibitions, you decided it was a good idea. And then when you wake up the next day, you won’t remember anything you said or did, because it never got stored in your hippocampus. You might even wake up someplace you don’t recognize.”