He keeps mixing up his tenses, some are present as if Eric is alive, some aren’t.
I did that with my grandma.
Matt hasn’t accepted his brother’s death. I want to console him, hug him? Is it even my place?
“Maybe the dreams give us something more.” I’ve been praying the dreams would go away. Not now.
“More?” he asks.
I swallow. “Yeah. Like I didn’t see the gun at first. That came later. Maybe we’ll see other stuff.”
Matt passes a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the hurt and grief. “All I see is he’s running and carrying a gun—he’s in different parts of woods.” His voice catches. “He’s so scared. I think he knows he’s going to die.”
The pain in Matt’s eyes is so raw that it bleeds onto me. I feel it. The stickiness on my skin. The stain of it on my soul. “I’m sorry.”
“If Cassie would get back, I might find answers.”
“Back?” I ask.
“She left after the funeral. Went to her dad’s in California. Even started school there, but she’s supposed to return and graduate here.”
“I saw her today … at the roadside park.” Her image flashes in my head and the same lonely feeling from earlier echoes inside me.
“You sure?” Matt says.
I nod.
“I’ll go to her house tomorrow. She’s got to talk to me.”
I sit there in the tense silence. “Do you really think she had something to do with this?”
“She knows something. She refuses to talk to me. Even before the funeral. She told the cops I was calling her, and the detective told me I had to stop. Now, she blocks my calls.”
“Maybe she’s just devastated. You and Eric were identical. That has to … hurt.”
I recall how Cassie looked walking out of those woods, as if she’d lost her best friend. I don’t think Cassie is behind it.
“I’m hurt,” Matt spits out. “If she cared, she’d talk to me to try to help. And she told the cops that Eric hadn’t been at her house that night. But he told me that’s where he was going. Why would he lie?”
“Did you tell the detective this?” I ask.
“Over and over again. Even he’s dodging my calls. They’ve made up their minds it’s a suicide.” Desperation leaks out with his voice and sinks inside me.
“Then you have to prove them wrong.”
He stares at me, oddly, as if having an epiphany. “We.” He reaches for my hand again. “We have to prove them wrong. Tell me you’ll help me, Leah. Please.”
His jaw clenches. “I know I don’t deserve it, because I didn’t call you back. I was an ass. Forgive me.”
I’ve forgiven him. Haven’t I? I mean, not for one second do I regret that kiss, but yeah, I guess I’m smarter for it. You don’t wait for a call that never comes without learning to be careful what you wish for.
Still, how could he think I could refuse him anything? I have his brother’s heart. Before I can answer, a knock hits the window. My butt bounces two inches off the seat and I squeal. I see the familiar face behind the glass. It’s Sandy, and behind her are Jeremy, LeAnn, Carlos, and … Trent.
“Oh, my gawd, is that really you?” Sandy jumps up and down and screams. She motions for me to get out of the car.
Something happens then. Like a switch turning on. I realize I’ve missed these people. The reasons I’d shut them out of my life now seem stupid. As if dying wasn’t a good enough excuse.
Still, a gooey feeling warms my chest. They are part of the Old Leah, and I want her back.
I reach for the door handle and look at Matt, who’s also gazing at my friends. People he knows, but doesn’t. It’s an in-your-face kind of reminder that we aren’t in the same crowd.
Why is it that I suddenly feel farther apart from him? As if there’s a line that divides us—the proverbial railroad track. Not the rich and nonrich divide, but the popular and not-so popular. His kind. And my kind.
I can’t help wondering if our different worlds had something to do with his not calling. Or was it just about my dying?
“I should go,” I say. “But yes. I’ll help you.”
Our eyes meet.
Lock.
As crazy as it seems, I feel as if my old life is outside the car, and I need to go to it.
Sandy knocks again.
“Bye.” I get out. Sandy hugs me before I have a chance to tell her I can’t hug. I shut Matt’s car door. Trent is looking at me kind of funny. I smile.
They all start talking at the same time. I’m halfway across the street before it hits how rude I was. I should’ve said something like … You guys know Matt Kenner, don’t you?
But that would’ve sounded silly. Everyone knows him. The polite thing would’ve been to ask Matt to come in. Oh, he’d have turned me down. He has his own friends and parties to go to on New Year’s Eve.
A little voice echoes in my head. Welcome back to high school. It’s the world of cliques, snobby chicks, and an occasional dick. But I still belong there. It’s where I’ll find Old Leah.
* * *
Matt watches Leah and her friends cross the street. He recognizes everyone, but doesn’t know their names. Except Trent Becker. You didn’t forget the name of the guy who stole the girl you liked before you had your chance.
Is Leah still with him?
“Doesn’t matter,” he says aloud. He’s not looking for that.
Matt starts the car, but something keeps him from driving off. He can’t quite put his finger on the emotion sitting on his chest. Loneliness, maybe? Since Eric’s death he’s mostly pulled away from his friends. Having fun seems wrong. When he finds out who killed Eric, he can start living again.
He looks back across the street. It’s not just loneliness. He feels excluded. Had Leah been rude, or was he just being pathetic?
He sees Trent shoulder up next to Leah. Yup, it’s more than loneliness.
He doesn’t want her there. He wants her here.
What’s up with that? Then he gets it. She’s the only person he’s told about the dreams. The only person he’s able to talk to about this. And to find out she was having the same kind of dreams? It had to mean something. And, of course, he’d feel … connected to her after all that.
Another possibility hits. Hard. Could it be Eric’s heart he feels connected to?
He pushes that aside, because he’d felt this before Eric’s death. Leah’s special. Looking back at her, Trent at her side, he takes off, maybe a little hard. His tires squeal.
A block away, he comes to the stop sign and just sits there. Batting back emotions, he forces himself to focus on what matters most.
Eric.
Instead of turning to go home, he heads toward Cassie Chambers’s house. He has questions. It’s been over six months. She’d better have answers.
* * *
An hour later, I’m sitting on the sofa in Brandy’s game room. Half of my old friends are on the other side of the room; half of them are here. Yet I feel crowded. I feel … like I don’t belong.
LeAnn is going on about reading Great Expectations.
“It was boring,” I say. “I couldn’t finish it.”
LeAnn gasps. “It’s a classic.”
“Classically boring.”
“You’re too smart to say that,” Sandy says.
I recall Sandy and LeAnn both being occasional book snobs.
“Intelligence doesn’t have anything to do with it,” I counter.
“That could get you kicked out of the book club,” LeAnn says jokingly.
Or maybe it’s not a joke. Maybe I’m no longer a good fit. But I started it. How could I not belong?
“I’ve been reading romances,” I blurt out, and I don’t know if I wanted to push their buttons or what. But there it is. Out there.
Sandy laughs. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. I found a box of them that belonged to my grandma.”
“Way to go, Grandma,” Tre
nt says. I sense he’s trying to show he’s on my side. A little too close to my side. The back of his hand touches mine and I think of Matt. His touch. His sad eyes. My rudeness.
I scoot over. Reclaim a few inches on the sofa.
“Don’t worry,” Sandy says. “We’ll give you some good books to read and clean out that love trash.”
Love trash? Since when is love trash? “I thought the book club was open to all genres.”
Everyone looks at me oddly.
Trent speaks up, “LeAnn decided we needed to be educated more than entertained. But we read our own stuff on the side. We just don’t tell her.” He cuts LeAnn a smile.
“I think a book can be both entertaining and educational,” I say.
“Of course.” Sandy’s tone is practically placating.
I sit there swimming in frustration and wondering when everyone changed. Then it occurs to me. They haven’t. I have. First, I spoke up. I didn’t used to do that. I kept my opinions to myself—if I had any.
I remember someone writing in one of my yearbooks: To Leah McKenzie, a better listener than a talker.
The next hour, I don’t talk and force myself to listen. Trying to find … me.
But none of this feels like me. I pop up.
“You need anything?” Trent catches my arm.
Not unless you’re going to pee for me. “Restroom,” I say, tempering my less-than-polite response and pull away.
I take a few steps, surprised Trent doesn’t follow. He’s been stuck to me like new Velcro. I can hear the crackly rrriiip when I get a few feet from him.
The thought of being home snuggled up with a book appeals to me more than being here, snuggled up with him. But leaving would hurt Brandy. She threw this party for me. It’s my welcome-back-to-the-living party, a chance to reconnect with my old life.
I was looking forward to it too.
What the hell happened?
I take a step, hit my toe on the coffee table. “Shit!” I belt out.
Everyone stares at me. “It’s just shit.” Then I realize they haven’t heard me say “shit.” Old Leah didn’t say “shit.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, then hate that I’m apologizing.
It’s as if New Leah is walking on eggshells around Old Leah. Around Old Leah’s friends.
I make it across the room. Brandy lets go of Brian for the first time and follows me.
“Nothing’s wrong with her,” I hear Trent say.
I look back knowing they are talking about me. In spite of being irritated by Trent’s attention, I recall why I liked him. He’s smart, sweet, and stands up for people. He’s even cuter than I remember. His shoulders are wider, his arms thicker, his face more chiseled. Any girl would be lucky to have him.
So why don’t I feel lucky?
Why do I keep thinking about Matt?
Brandy follows me into the bathroom. She jumps up on the bathroom counter. Watching me pee isn’t a problem. We gave up all sense of modesty between each other in seventh-grade gym class. We always took turns changing into our gym clothes. One of us would dress while the other held lookout for Lisa, the class bully, to keep her from yanking open our dressing room curtain so everyone could see us naked.
God, I haven’t thought about Lisa in forever. The idea of seeing her again annoys me. But something tells me that I won’t take her shit anymore. How sad is it that it takes almost dying to learn to stand up for yourself?
“Did you tell Matt you think you have Eric’s heart?” Brandy rubs her hands together waiting for juicy news. She asks as if the whole thing is cool.
I don’t think it’s cool. Actually, now that I know Matt’s having the same dreams, it’s freaking scary. It’s as if Eric is trying to talk to us. As if he wants justice. As if he wants us to find him justice.
But I don’t believe in ghosts. Or I didn’t. Not that I’ve seen one. But today when I saw Cassie, I think I felt one. I felt Eric inside me, even questioned if he had the power to make me do things. Like go to the roadside park.
Chills crawl up my neck like tiny spiders.
Then I realize what scares me more than a dead person living inside me is the thought of me trying to find the person who made Eric dead.
I’m sure this person doesn’t want to be found. I’m sure if he killed once, he’d be up to killing again. I’m sure I don’t want to be his next victim.
I let the possibilities roll around my mind. Then another scary thought pops up.
Matt and I have both been through hell. What if we’re just reading into the dreams to help us cope?
What if none of this is real?
8
“Earth to Leah.” Brandy’s eye-rolling expression reminds me that her question still hangs in the Febreze-scented air. “Did you tell him what you suspect about the heart?”
“He knows,” I say.
“He knows. You mean you really have his heart? Seriously?”
I nod. “He saw me and my parents walking in after … after they signed the papers.”
“Holy crap! This is like movie-of-the-week stuff.”
If only she knew everything. I want to tell her. About my dreams. About Matt’s dreams. But I’m not ready. Wasn’t I just questioning the possibility that the whole dream stuff wasn’t real? Or maybe I just need time to wrap my head around the craziness of it before I can share it. But I shared it all with Matt. That seems odd.
Brandy’s feet swing at an impatient pace, bumping against the bathroom cabinet. Clunk. Thump. Clunk. Thump. “And?”
“And nothing,” I say.
“So he didn’t like ask you out or say he’d call?”
That would be a big hell no. “I think we’re going to talk, but it’s not like that.”
“What about that kiss?”
“He only kissed me because I told him I wanted him to.” I need to remember that too.
“And you don’t want him to kiss you now? He’s Matt Kenner, for God’s sake. Who doesn’t want to kiss him? I’m with Brian, I’m madly in love with Brian, but I still want Matt Kenner to kiss me.”
Mulling over my answer, I finish my business, complete my paperwork, zip, and go to wash my hands. Brandy jumps off the counter.
I reach for soap.
“Don’t go silent on me,” she demands.
The soap slides out of my hands, and the suds get sucked down the drain along with my rational thought. I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Being scared of a killer. Feeling as if Eric is partly alive inside me. Doubting that what I’m feeling is even real. “It’s just not like that now.”
“Because he didn’t call you back?” Her smile fades. “It pissed you off, didn’t it?”
But damn. Sometimes Brandy can read me better than I can.
“Maybe, or maybe I’m smarter now. Like you said, ‘He’s Matt Kenner.’ And I’m…”
“You’re awesome,” Brandy says. “Seriously, every guy at this party is like drooling over you. I had to give Brian a jab with my elbow. You are rocking that outfit. I think your boobs got bigger.”
“Yeah, right.” I flick my wet hands at her.
She ducks, giggles, then asks, “Okay, so what gives with Trent?”
I look at her.
“You don’t have to answer,” she says between chuckles. “Your expression says it all.”
“I didn’t have an expression.”
“Yes you did. The sour-milk expression.” She unzips, pees, all the while grinning up at me. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just surprised.”
“He’s not sour milk. He’s nice, but … I’m not ready.” Maybe I wasn’t ready to be here either. I almost tell her how I feel. That I don’t fit in with everyone anymore.
But I can’t. These are Brandy’s friends. They were my friends.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She tilts her head and studies me. “You really like Matt.”
“I don’t know how I feel.” Other than more overwhelmed than I’ve been in a year. Obviously, liv
ing takes much more mental energy than dying.
* * *
Later, everyone piles into three cars and drives to the Walmart to watch the fireworks. We bring lawn chairs, blankets, and hot chocolate.
The big fireworks don’t start until ten, but to secure a spot we get there at eight. Some fireworks are already going off. Everyone is oohing and ahhing over the explosions of color in the sky. I try to ignore everything that’s rolling around inside me. Everything about Eric. Everything about Matt. Everything about me. About the me who doesn’t fit in.
Next to us is a family with a boy around three. He keeps rolling his ball toward me; I keep rolling it back. His smile is so big. His mother, who doesn’t look much older than me, tries to stop him, but I tell her it’s okay. It keeps me from feeling awkward sitting next to Trent, who is still Velcroed to my side.
As I watch the boy curl up in his mother’s lap, I remember something. A crazy something.
I can’t have kids. Before, it didn’t matter. I’m not sure it matters now, but it’s there. Like a piece of gum stuck under the desk, it’s stuck to the bottom of my mind. One day I’m going to want to scrape it off. But I can’t.
I push that thought away.
I notice it’s almost nine. The hot chocolate’s gone. I need something to take my meds with.
I get up, tap Brandy on the arm, or I hope it’s her arm—she and Brian are so wrapped up with each other I’m not sure what limb belongs to who.
“I’m going to go buy some water.”
“I’ll come with you.” She starts untangling herself from Brian.
“No, I’m fine.”
“I’ll go.” Trent’s words pipe up behind me.
Brandy shoots me a sorry-about-that glance. I force a smile, and then Trent and I head out. The cold weaves itself through my sweater. I wish I’d borrowed a jacket from Brandy. We skirt between the crowds of people and cars. Trent’s shoulder brushes mine. He used to do that all the time. He never went for public affection. Shoulder bumps were his way of saying “I care.”
I don’t want him caring about me, not like that.
“You feeling okay?” he asks over the exploding firecrackers.
“Yeah.” I glance up at the streaks of blue and red racing across the sky.