read book

CHAPTER ONE Laws of Motion On the day Liz Emerson tries to die, they had reviewed Newton＊s Laws of Motion in physics class. Then, after school, she put them into practice by running her Mercedes off the road. As she lies on the grass with the shattered window tangled in her hair, her blood all around her, she looks up and sees the sky again. She begins to cry, because it＊s so blue, the sky. So, so blue. It fills her with an odd sadness, because she had forgotten. She had forgotten how very blue it was, and now it is too late. Inhaling is becoming an exceedingly difficult task. The rush of cars grows farther and farther away, the world blurs at the edges, and Liz is gripped by an inexplicable urge to get to her feet and chase the cars, redefine the world. In this moment, she realizes what death really means. It means that she will never catch them. Wait, she thinks. Not yet. She still doesn＊t understand them, Newton＊s Three Laws of Motion. Inertia and force and mass and gravity and equal and opposite reactions still do not quite fit together in her head, but she is ready to let go. She is ready for it all to end. It is then, when she releases her need to understand, that everything falls into place. Things just aren＊t that simple. And suddenly it＊s very clear to her that every action is an interaction, and everything she has ever done has led to something else, and to another something else, and all of that is ending here, at the bottom of the hill by Highway 34, and she is dying. In that moment, everything clicks. And Liz Emerson closes her eyes. SNAPSHOT: SKY We lie on the red-checkered blanket with weeds and flowers all around us, caught in the fleece. Our breaths carry our dandelion wishes higher, higher, until they become the clouds we watch. Sometimes we looked for animals or ice-cream cones or angels, but today we only lie there with our palms together and our fingers tangled, and we dream. We wonder what lies beyond. One day, she will grow up and imagine death as an angel that will lend her wings, so she can find out. Death, unfortunately, is not in the business of lending wings. CHAPTER TWO How to Save a Corpse I watch the spinning lights close in, wrapping the scene in long lines of ambulances and yellow tape. Sirens wail and paramedics spill out, running and slipping down the great hill in their haste. They surround the Mercedes, crouch beside her, the glass crunching beneath their feet. ※No gag reflex. Get the tube ready, I need RSI intubation〞§ ※Can you start a line from there? Jaws of life . . . get the fire department!§ ※〞no, forget that, break the windshield〞§ So they do. They remove the glass and carry her up the hill, and no one notices the boy standing near the mangled bits of her car, watching. Her name is on his lips. Then he is pushed back by a policeman, forced back to the crowd of people who have gotten out of their cars to catch a glimpse of the scene, the blood, the body. I look past the circle and see the traffic rapidly piling up in every direction, and right then, it＊s very easy to imagine Liz somewhere in the long line of cars, sitting inside an intact Mercedes, her hand pressed to the horn, her swearing drowned out by the pounding bass of the radio. It＊s impossible. It＊s impossible to imagine her as anything but alive. The fact, however, is that the word alive no longer accurately describes Liz Emerson. She is being pushed into the back of an ambulance, and for her, the doors are closing. ※She＊s tachycardic〞and hypotensive, can you〞§ ※I need a splint, she＊s got a complex fracture in the superior femur〞§ ※No, just get the blood stopped! She＊s going into shock!§ As everyone moves and rushes around her, a musical of beeping machines and panic, I just watch her, her hands, her face. Her hair falling out of the hasty braid. The foundation across her cheeks, too thin to cover the graying skin. When I look around, I can see her heart beating on three different monitors. I can see the steam her breath makes on the mask. But Liz Emerson is not alive. So I lean forward. I place my lips beside her ear and whisper for her to stay, stay alive, over and over again. I whisper it as though she＊ll hear me, like she used to. As though she＊ll listen. Stay alive. CHAPTER THREE The News Monica Emerson is on a plane when the hospital calls. Her phone is turned off, and the call goes straight to voicemail. An hour later, she turns on her phone and listens to her voicemails as she makes her way to baggage claim. The first is from the marketing division of her company〞something about her next trip to Bangkok. The second is from the dry cleaners. The third has no message. The fourth begins just as she spots her suitcase on the carousel, so the words ※Your daughter was in a car accident§ don＊t register right away. She makes herself listen to the entire thing one more time, breathe, and when it ends and the nightmare doesn＊t, she turns and runs. The suitcase takes another turn on the carousel. Julia is almost halfway through her calculus homework when the phone in the hall rings. It makes her jump, because no one ever calls her house. She has a cell and her father has three, and Julia has never understood why they needed a landline too. Regardless, she goes into the hall to answer, because conic parametric equations are giving her a headache. ※Hello?§ ※Is this George De〞§ ※No,§ she says. ※This is Julia. His daughter?§ ※Well, this is the emergency contact number we have for Elizabeth Emerson. Is it correct?§ ※Liz?§ She twirls the phone cord around her fingers and wishes, suddenly, that she had never let Liz put her dad down as an emergency contact. It wasn＊t like he was ever around for emergencies. Stupid, she thought. ※Yes, this is the right number. Is Liz〞what＊s going on?§ There＊s a pause. ※Is your father home?§ Julia pushes down her annoyance, chokes it, cinches the phone line tighter around her fingers and watches them turn purple. ※No,§ she says. ※Is something wrong? Is Liz okay?§ ※I＊m not authorized to release the information to anyone except Mr. George Dev〞§ ※Did something happen to Liz?§ Another hesitation, and then a sigh. ※Elizabeth was admitted to St. Bartholomew＊s Memorial Hospital a little while ago. She was in a car accident〞§ Julia drops the phone, grabs her car keys, and Googles directions to the hospital on the way to her car. Kennie is on a bus with the rest of Meridian High＊s dance team. At the moment the Mercedes flips over, she is leaning over the back of her seat, trying to grab Jenny Vickham＊s bag of sour gummies while the bus driver yells at her to sit down. She is happy, because soon she＊ll dance beneath spotlights as the only junior in the front row. Soon they＊ll win the competition and come back laughing. Soon she＊ll spin and leap and forget about the baby and the abortion and Kyle and Liz. I＊m happy, she tells herself. Be happy. Both Monica Emerson and Julia are too busy unraveling to remember Kennie. They couldn＊t have called anyway〞Kennie has no phone service on the bus, and her phone is about to die. As Monica and Julia rush for the hospital, Kennie is traveling in the opposite direction, blissfully ignorant of the fact that her best friend is dying. She probably won＊t know for a while. No, she＊ll come home after winning the competition, cheeks sore from smiling so much, stomach cramped from laughing the whole ride back. She will take a shower and exchange her sparkles and spandex for a worn pair of pajamas. She will sit in the darkness of her room, her wet hair piled atop her head, and scroll through her Facebook feed. She will find it clogged with a story told through statuses, and it will take her breath away. .................................................................. CHAPTER FOUR Stay Alive Liz had planned the crash with an uncharacteristic attention to detail, but not once did St. Bartholomew＊s Memorial Hospital make an appearance in her plans, because she was supposed to die on impact. She had been excessively careful in choosing the location, however. The highway, the hill, the icy turn, all nearly an hour from her house. She had even driven along the route once, swerved a little, chipped the paint on the Mercedes, for practice. But because she had chosen to crash her car so far away, no one is there to meet her when the ambulance pulls into St. Bartholomew＊s. No one is there to hold her hand as the doctors wheel her to surgery. There＊s only me. I can only watch. Stay alive. I watch the doctors arrive. I watch the flashing scalpels, the eyebrows that curve downward. I watch the hands, the white latex splashed with red. I watch, and I remember the time Liz fractured her shin in kindergarten playing soccer, already too in love with the sport and already too vain for shin guards, and how we went to Children＊s Hospital instead of this one. That surgery room had a border of giraffes jumping rope, and Liz had held my hand until the anesthesia pulled her away. But there are no giraffes jumping rope here, and Liz＊s hand is broken. This isn＊t like that surgery, or any of the other ones〞the one at St. Nicks＊ when Liz tore her ACL during a powder puff game, or the one at the dentist＊s when she＊d had her wisdom teeth removed. During those, the doctors had been relaxed. There had been iPod docks in the corners, playing Beethoven or U2 or Maroon 5, and the doctors had seemed . . . well, human. These surgeons are all hands and knives, cutting and peeling Liz apart, sewing and sewing her back together as though they can trap her soul and lock it away under her skin. I wonder how much of her will be left when they finish. Stay alive. But she doesn＊t want to. She doesn＊t want to. I try to remember the last time she was happy, her last good day, and it takes so long to sort through the other memories, the unhappy ones and the empty ones and the shattered ones, that it＊s easy to understand why she closed her eyes and jerked her wheel to the side. Because Liz Emerson held so much darkness within her that closing her eyes didn＊t make much of a difference at all. CHAPTER FIVE Five Months Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car On the first Friday after the start of Liz＊s junior year, only three topics were discussed at lunch: Ms. Harrison＊s plus-size miniskirt and fishnet stockings, the sheer number of freshman skanks, and the enormous beach party Tyler Rainier was going to throw that night. Over her tray of healthy (by government standards) and inedible (by everyone else＊s standards) lunch, Liz declared her intentions to go. Which meant, of course, that everyone else was going to go. Everyone were the others sitting at the three tables reserved for Meridian High School＊s elite: the petty, the vain, the jocks, the idiots, the beautiful, the rich, the accepted and admired sluts. In particular, her statement was directed at Kennie, who would immediately text Julia〞who, due to a scheduling conflict resulting from an overload of AP classes, had a different lunch hour〞with the plans. Liz, Julia, Kennie. That was the way things were, and no one questioned it anymore. After school, Liz drove home with the radio blasting. She was more lenient on the gas pedal than usual, because she knew she would return to an empty house. Her mom was either in Ohio or Bulgaria that weekend〞she couldn＊t remember. It didn＊t matter. There was always a business trip, and always another one. Once upon a time, Liz had loved that her mother traveled. It was like magic, like a fairy tale, to have a mother who crossed oceans and knew the sky. Besides, when her mom wasn＊t home, her dad let her eat on the couch, and he never nagged when we wanted to jump on the bed or skip brushing our teeth or play on the roof. But then her dad died and she grew up and her mother still went on her trips, and Liz had learned to be lonely. It wasn＊t th快 aloneness that Liz minded. It was the sil快nce. It echo快d. It bounced off the walls of the Emerson＊s ov快rsized house. It fill快d th快 corners and the clos快ts and th快 shadows. In reality, Liz＊s mom wasn＊t gone as oft快n as it se快m快d to Liz, but th快 sil快nce magnifi快d 快v快rything. It was her oldest f快ar, that silence. Sh快 had always hat快d when th快r快 was nothing to say, hat快d the minut快s of darkn快ss at sl快epovers as everyone drift快d but didn＊t quite sl快ep, hated study hall, hated pauses in phone calls. Oth快r little girls f快ared the dark, and they grew up and l快ft their fears b快hind. Liz was afraid of silence, and she kept h快r fears clench快d so tightly in h快r fists that they grew and gr快w and swallow快d her whole. For a whil快, she sat in th快 garag快 with th快 M快rced快s still purring b快n快ath her, the radio blasting lin快 after line of rap sh快 could bar快ly understand. Sh快 wish快d that sh快＊d asked Julia or K快nni快 to com快 over after school so she could put off the silenc快 for a little long快r. But she hadn＊t, and she told herself that regr快t was stupid and she pull快d her keys from the ignition. The sil快nce hit her physically, surround快d her as she unlocked the back door, swallow快d her as she w快nt insid快, strangled her as sh快 slid out of h快r shoes and microwaved som快thing called a Pizzarito (※a m快lting pot of flavor!§). Bri快fly, sh快 thought about going for a run〞op快n gym for soccer would start soon, and sh快 was out of shap快〞but though th快 air was crisp and part of her wanted that 快scape through movem快nt, a gr快ater part was unwilling to go upstairs for h快r running sho快s, com快 all the way back down, lac快 th快m up, dig h快r keys back out of her purse, lock the door. . . . The microwav快 be快ped, and Liz fetched the Pizzarito and flipped through chann快ls until the bor快dom became intolerable. Th快n, with the silenc快 still pounding inside and outside of her, Liz went to th快 bathroom, slid her fingers down h快r throat, and car快fully transferred th快 m快lting pot of flavor from her stomach to the toil快t. In her lif快, Liz had flirt快d with a numb快r of dang快rous things〞drugs, bulimia, the p快rv快rt ston快r who worked at RadioShack. Bulimia was the only on快 that stuck. She had broken th快 habit for a whil快〞she＊d start快d puking blood for a bit, which fright快n快d her, b快caus快 sh快 hadn＊t wanted to die. Not then. But she was going to be grinding in a swimsuit tonight, and sh快 wanted to b快 happy. She wanted to be bright and laughing and thin. She flushed th快 Pizzarito and brushed her teeth, but the taste was still there, so she went down to the basement and dug through her mother＊s enormous wine cabinet and swiped a skinny bottle of〞actually, she wasn＊t really sure what it was, because the words weren＊t in English, but it was alcoholic and smelled like berries, and the label was pretty〞and uncorked it on her way back upstairs. She drank it in bursts, quick head-thrown-back shots, as she went to her room and opened her closet to consider her collection of swimsuits. The yellow, frilly bikini made her look like a daffodil in the worst way, the red one was a bit too slutty even for her, and the white bottoms had faded and stretched so much that they now vaguely resembled granny panties. Liz finally settled on the striped maroonish one she＊d found on sale at Victoria＊s Secret a few months before, and she was scrutinizing her hips in the mirror when she caught sight of her fat, bald, hairy, leery, generally pedophilic neighbor standing on his lawn in his bathrobe, squinting at her window. Liz flipped him off and went back down the hall. Sometimes, she thought, this house really is depressing. But tonight was not going to be one of those nights. It might have started out as one, but the〞wine? She thought it was some sort of wine〞was taking care of that nicely. She went back to the living room and turned all of the couch cushions over before she flopped down. The wine sloshed and spilled, and new lavender stains splattered across the older splotches. Once upon a time, she had worried that her mother would discover the mess. She knew better now. Monica was not the type to relax on her overpriced couch. Liz wished she were〞she wished that her mother would dig for the remote just once and find the bottoms of the cushions splotched with alcohol, because Liz didn＊t know how she would react. If she would be angry, if she would finally install a lock on the wine cabinet. If she would care. Doesn＊t matter, she thought as she tilted the bottle sharply. Doesn＊t matter. The liquid spilled over her chin and down her neck and shoulders, and she thought suddenly of the first party she ever went to, the summer before freshman year, and all that had changed since then. She＊d had her first beer that night, and her second, her third. She had gotten drunk for the first time, so there wasn＊t much that she still remembered, not much that she wanted to remember. She thought of the lights, the bodies, the heavy and shattering music. The air, hot with sweat, humid with guilt. Doesn＊t matter. By eight, half the wine was gone. She could feel the alcohol in her blood, making the world oddly delicate, as though everything had turned brittle and was on the verge of falling apart, and Liz Emerson was the only substantial thing on the planet. And it was nice, being invincible. ※My god,§ Julia said as she slid into the passenger seat. ※Are you drunk already?§ ※Of course,§ Liz said. She caught a corner of the mailbox as she backed wildly out of Julia＊s driveway. Later she would find the scratch on the Mercedes, but she didn＊t care right now. There was something romantic about the idea of being young and tipsy and having somewhere to go on a Friday night. She handed the berry alcohol stuff to Julia. Julia unstopped the bottle and tilted it back, and though Liz knew that Julia kept her lips tightly closed, she said nothing. It was easier to ignore it. Liz had her occasional trips to the bathroom after dinner, Julia had ziplock bags of illegal substances hidden around her room, and they had an unspoken contract to act as though their own secrets were still, in fact, secret. ※Kennie＊s riding with Kyle, so you don＊t need to pick her up,§ said Julia, handing the bottle back. Liz snorted. The car swerved as she took a swig, and she laughed as Julia yelped. ※She＊s riding on Kyle, you mean.§ ※That too.§ Julia paused for a moment to tighten her seatbelt and then said, quieter, ※I can＊t believe she didn＊t break up with him.§ Liz said nothing. Kennie, of course, was covered by the contract too, and this fell under the list of things Liz didn＊t want to talk about, things she especially didn＊t want to talk about tonight. Stupid, she thought. Four words, four for Kyle to convince her: But I love you. And of course they worked, because Kennie would do anything for love. Stupid, stupid Kennie. But now Julia was quiet too, remembering that when it came to staying with cheating boyfriends, Liz had very little to preach about. Liz pressed down on the gas pedal, then took a hairpin turn that threw a screaming Julia into the door, because tonight, they were unbreakable. They arrived at the party nearly an hour late, and by then the bonfire was huge and the crowd could be heard from ten blocks away. People were already leaving, because a party of this size, with this much beer, would surely draw as many police officers as a donut buffet. Tyler Rainier was an idiot to throw such a party on a public beach, but Liz didn＊t care. She took another swig as she got out of the car to make sure she didn＊t. Smoke was everywhere, a haze of bonfire and marijuana. There were strobe lights and colored spotlights, and it seemed as though the sky had descended and turned them all to hazy stars. The music made Liz＊s brain tremble. It was only a matter of time before everyone scattered, but it didn＊t matter. Not tonight. Liz glanced at Julia, who was observing the entire thing with an expression that could almost be called disdainful. People called Julia stuck-up because she was quiet and rich and chic and had the posture of a ballerina and was something of a killjoy at parties. Julia was destined for a world of charity balls and pearls. She was a little too smart, a little too graceful, a little too conscientious for this hammered crowd. And sometimes it made Liz jealous, but tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight, she looked over at Julia and had to fight down the urge to hug her, because Julia was uncomfortable and beautiful and hers. ※C＊mon, killjoy,§ Liz said cheerfully. Julia followed after a moment, and the lights swallowed them together. ※Liz!§ Liz almost fell over as Kennie bowled into her. The bottle flew out of her hand and spilled all over Julia. ※Dammit.§ Julia sighed, looking down at her soaked cover-up. Kennie giggled and licked a drop off her shoulder, ducking away as Julia slapped at her head. ※Get off, lesbo,§ said Julia, but she was laughing too. ※It＊s good,§ Kennie said, picking up the bottle off the sand. She squinted at it. ※Oh, my god. I＊m not that drunk already, am I? Why can＊t I read this?§ ※Because it＊s not in English, stupid,§ said Liz, and Kennie laughed and threw back the rest of the wine. Her hair tumbled down her back, then fanned away as she tossed the bottle at Liz. ※Come on!§ Kennie said, grabbing their hands and dragging them into the smoke. The heat was unbelievable; it made Liz＊s throat itch, and she lifted the bottle again, but it was empty. She dropped it into the sand. ※Careful,§ she shouted to Julia over the noise. ※Don＊t get too close to the fire! That much alcohol on you〞§ ※Bitch,§ Julia called back, shrugging off her soaked clothes. ※God, I smell like〞§ ※Like a Russian!§ Liz hollered. She slung an arm around Julia. ※Like you＊re sexy!§ She didn＊t know exactly what she was saying anymore, but who cared? She didn＊t. She also didn＊t care about whatever Kennie was babbling about〞either Kellie Jensen＊s outrageous flab or Kyle Jordan＊s outrageous abs〞or about the s＊mores and beer that she was trying to pull them toward, so Liz broke away and let the crowd surround her. Jake Derrick, Liz＊s official on-again-off-again, was out of state for the weekend at some football camp, most likely hooking up with whichever cheerleader had the biggest boobs, but she didn＊t care. She grabbed the nearest boy by the belt and he took her hips. It was too smoky and he was too tall for her to make out much of his face, and she didn＊t try very hard to get a good look. She wasn＊t here to make memories. She was here for the flashing lights and the sweat and the smoke and the feel of someone else＊s skin against hers. They were interchangeable, these boys. They didn＊t matter. They didn＊t matter at all. While she was with Boy Number Four, Liz＊s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from Julia, saying that she and Jem Hayden, her potentially gay boyfriend, were leaving to check out some indie bookstore. She hadn＊t seen Kennie for a while, but no doubt she was grinding with Kyle somewhere in the mob. Doesn＊t matter. There was too much marijuana in the air, and it was making Liz dizzy. Nothing mattered, not even the way Boy Number Four kept trying to kiss her. Why should it matter? Tomorrow she would wake up and this party would be a haze of lights. She wouldn＊t remember any of it. So she finally turned her face and let Boy Number Four press his pot-flavored lips to hers, and he wasn＊t bad. They hadn＊t been on the beach for long〞half an hour, maybe, and Liz knew this because she had grinded with seven boys so far, one for each song〞when they heard the sirens over the music, and then, of course, it was over. As the crowd scattered and someone desperately tried to bury the last keg in the sand, Liz ran. Secretly, she loved when parties were busted. The night wasn＊t complete without a climax. The sirens, the swirl of red and blue lights〞now that was a climax. So, with a rush of adrenaline, Liz ran, slipping in and out of the crowd. Maybe, in a distant part of her mind, she remembered the games we played together when we were little, pretending to be spies and heroes, always escaping, always invincible. She jumped into her car and shoved the keys into the ignition, and backed out of the sand so quickly that she nearly flattened a police officer. She heard him shouting for her to stop, but she didn＊t listen, and he didn＊t chase her. Her heart was racing and she was laughing, and she rolled down the windows as she zoomed away so that the night could rush into her car and surround her. Liz briefly considered going home, but she missed the turn and it was too late to swerve, so she kept going. She pressed down on the gas and soon found herself on the interstate, taking an exit she hadn＊t taken in a decade. She drove along the beach until the trees grew taller and the night grew darker, and she turned in to the entrance of the state park. She parked messily by the ranger station, right next to the sign that said PARK CLOSED. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. She laughed to herself, thinking of seventh grade, when she, Kennie, and Julia had taken over a janitor＊s closet and claimed it for themselves. They had made signs like that, VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. Or at least, she and Julia had. Kennie＊s had read PROSECUTORS WILL BE VIOLATED. After thoroughly teasing her for the mistake, they had made that their new motto. Liz turned off the car and was surprised by the silence. It always surprised her, somehow. She grabbed her iPod and turned it on, breaking the night wide open with shouting and drums, something angry〞and then she changed the song, because she was alone, and she didn＊t have to listen to what other people liked when she was alone. She forgot, sometimes, that she could make her own choices. Liz walked into the trees, knowing that she was probably being an idiot and she should at least turn on her flashlight app, but not caring, not caring about anything at all. She hadn＊t been here since they moved, but her feet still seemed to know the way. She wasn＊t entirely sure why she＊d come at all, now that she thought about it, but that didn＊t stop her. Liz was beginning to realize that she was drunker than she wanted to admit〞enough to be wobbly and careless, and content with being stupid. She walked in time to some indie singer, who called her beautiful and stronger, stronger, stronger. Liz liked hearing it. She tried to remember the last time she＊d heard something like that in real life, and she couldn＊t. People didn＊t talk like that anymore, did they? Liz walked for so long that she was almost entirely certain that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the dark, that a bear would be along momentarily to maul her to pieces, eat her left hand, and leave her to bleed to death on the grass just off the trail where no one would find her until she was nothing but a skeleton, which they would ultimately hang up in the science room so that the human anatomy and physiology classes could study her〞when, suddenly the trees ended and she saw the tower. It wasn＊t as tall as she remembered. When she was younger, her father would bring her here on the first Wednesday of each month. Her father didn＊t work on Wednesdays and she didn＊t have preschool on Wednesdays. Wednesdays were important to them, Wednesdays were theirs. They came to make wishes on whatever was around〞dandelions in the summer, red and falling leaves in autumn, snowflakes in the winter, sunshine in the spring. Sure, she had been a short four-year-old, but now, staring up at the tower that had once seemed to reach heaven, she finally began to understand how much had changed. Still, she climbed it. The stairs were steep and creaking. She didn＊t run up like she used to, because there was no one to race her. She was more wobbly than ever by the time she got to the top, but she told herself that it was the adrenaline and the height making her sway. When she threw her head back, she could see the sky bending away from her, and it seemed closer than usual. As though if she tried, she could snag a star on her fingernail, but she didn＊t move. It hurt, hurt to hold still, so she leaned against the railing with the metal pushing against her lungs, and she closed her eyes. ※Well, hello, darling with the ocean eyes, How many secrets keep us apart? A sea of poems, a field of sighs, Can I cross and return to the start?§ Liz turned off the music. Breathed, and looked up again to face the silence, but it wasn＊t there. Not the kind she was running from. It was quiet, deeply so, but it was the kind of quiet that lived and moved and changed, filled to the brim with crickets and wings and the sounds of late summer. Later, she lay on her back, staring at the curving sky and the stars, swallowed by the darkness so that she felt very small indeed. She wondered what was between the stars, if it was dead and empty space, or something else. That＊s why there are so many constellations, she thought, remembering the ones from her fourth-grade science class〞Leo, Cassiopeia, Orion. Maybe everyone just wanted to connect those pinpricks of brightness and ignore the mysteries in between. Once upon a time, Liz was happy to TP a house with Julia and Kennie, to be invited to the best parties. Once upon a time, it made her happy to look down the social tower and see everyone below her. Once upon a time, it made happy her to stand here and see the entire sky above her. And tonight〞tonight, that was what she wished for. She wished to be happy, and fell asleep with an entire sky above her. .................................................................. CHAPTER SIX If She＊s Determined The waiting area of the emergency room is never empty, but right now, it＊s about as close as it gets. There＊s a man sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. There＊s a family huddled in a circle, with eyes closed in prayer. There＊s a boy staring quietly out the window, a name on his lips. And there, in the far corner, is Liz＊s mom, quietly eating her last pack of peanuts from the plane and paging through a magazine. When Liz was younger, people said that she got her face from her mother and everything else from her father. But Liz and her mother share a significant something else that neither of them will ever admit〞they both like to play pretend. So as her daughter lies dying on an operating table, Monica Emerson sits with her legs crossed, looking for all the world like she cares about which celebrity couple broke up this week. On the inside, she shakes to pieces. She flips a page and thinks of the day Liz learned to walk. Monica had gone to the kitchen to get a box of rice crackers, and when she turned, Liz was standing there behind her, wobbling uncertainly. And even as Monica yelled for her husband to get the camera, she lifted Liz off the ground and back into her arms, thinking Not yet. Not today. Let her grow up tomorrow. She flips another page. When she arrived, the doctor told her that even if Liz survives surgery, even if she doesn＊t die today, even if, there＊s a good chance that she＊ll never walk again. No one can make promises. Monica Emerson knows that the likeliest outcome will break her heart, so she does her best not to think about it. She thinks about nothing at all. That＊s the thing about Monica Emerson. She is a good person and a terrible mother. In the operating room, there are tense whispers, the brush of metal against bone, the tinny, faraway beeping that means she＊s still alive. And finally, when it＊s over, the beeping is still there. The doctors are masks and blood splatters, and all I can think is, This is no miracle. One of them〞Henderson, according to the blue scribble stitched into his front pocket〞breaks away and walks slowly toward the waiting area, which is never a good sign. Doctors with good news are almost as eager to deliver it as the people in the waiting room are to hear it. Only doctors with bad news walk slowly. Monica rises to meet him, and no one sees how her hands shake as she closes the magazine, lays it down gingerly as though afraid that her trembling will start an earthquake, make the entire world crumble. But the doctor still walks slowly, and his steps undo her world anyway. ※She isn＊t looking good,§ Dr. Henderson tells Liz＊s mom. For the third time〞I＊ve counted. She isn＊t looking good, she isn＊t looking good, she isn＊t looking good. ※We＊ll keep a close eye on her for the first twenty-four hours, and reevaluate tomorrow.§ But he doesn＊t really mean it, because he thinks she＊ll be dead by tomorrow. As though Monica Emerson could forget, drowning as she is in the list of Liz＊s injuries. ※Her left femur is shattered, and she has a complex fracture in her right hand. She＊s suffering from massive internal injuries. We＊ve removed her spleen and set the fractures, but her body is still on the verge of shutting down. We＊re doing everything we can, but at this point, it＊s up to her.§ ※What do you mean?§ I am simultaneously resentful of and impressed by Monica＊s composure. She＊s so like Liz. ※Liz is strong,§ the doctor says, as though he has any idea. ※She＊s young, and very fit. She＊s able to pull through this. If she＊s determined to, she will.§ He goes on to say that their first priority is to stabilize all the hemorrhaging and internal injuries, and they＊ll do another operation in a few days, if. Neither of them notices the boy by the window. He is braced against the arm of his chair and straining to hear. He catches only the worst snatches, ※extensive internal bleeding§ and ※a ruptured lung§ and ※no one knows§ and ※but§ and ※if.§ The rest is drowned out by the sound of his heart throwing itself against his rib cage. His name is Liam Oliver. He saw the crumpled, smoking Mercedes at the bottom of a hill on his way to Costco and called the police. Now he sits at the edge of the waiting room, his eyes on the window, her name still on his lips. He is very much in love with Liz Emerson, and it seems that she will never know. CHAPTER SEVEN Pop Quiz There＊s something about Julia that makes heads turn. Even in the emergency room. Even in sweatpants and a shirt that has a hole in the armpit. Even with her smeared eyeliner darkening the circles under her eyes. Even with the scene of the crash still impressed on the insides of her eyelids, so that she sees it every time she blinks. Even now. Don＊t blink, she tells herself as she almost knocks over a table on her way to the nurse＊s station. She doesn＊t notice anything, not Dr. Henderson and Monica turning the corner for the ICU, not the classmate sitting by the window. She had stared at it for so long. There had been so much traffic. Long, long lines of it, stretching past what remained of Liz＊s car. ※Hello,§ says Julia. Hesitantly〞Julia is a hesitant person. She turns heads, but she hates being stared at. Once upon a time, she didn＊t care. But that was a long time ago. ※I . . . um. My friend Liz is . . . she was admitted earlier today, I think. Elizabeth Emerson?§ The nurse looks up. ※Are you a family member?§ she asks. ※No,§ says Julia, and though she knows the battle is already lost, she can＊t help but add, ※She＊s my best friend.§ It didn＊t start out that way. Halfway through seventh grade, Julia＊s parents decided that they＊d had enough of each other. Her mother got the house, all the furniture, a million dollars from her worthless cheating bastard of a husband with sinfully overpriced daughter-stealing lawyers, and her dad, of course, got Julia. Seventh grade was a horrible year. Seventh grade was puberty. Seventh grade was when Life Learning Skills became about sex and drugs instead of exercise and nutrition. Seventh grade was a year of discovery, of self and survival, of becoming. Liz discovered bitchiness, decided selfishness was essential to survival, and became the person she would come to hate. But that was okay, because everyone else acted the same way. Except Julia. Julia was . . . different. Julia didn＊t wear Crocs. She didn＊t wear the flowy capri things that everyone else did, she didn＊t wear her skirts over jeans, she didn＊t use sports wrap as headbands, she didn＊t layer her tank tops. She didn＊t even check her phone all that often. Julia wore brands that the rest of them wouldn＊t even hear of for another five years. She didn＊t watch the shows that everyone else watched and she didn＊t listen to the music the rest of them listened to. She was brave, and no one is allowed to be brave in middle school. Liz hated her. She hated her because Julia didn＊t need to dye her hair or wear makeup to be beautiful, because she just was. She hated her because Julia didn＊t care, didn＊t care what people thought, didn＊t care when they stared〞not back then. She hated her because Julia was different, and that was enough. Liz hated her, so everyone else did too. Julia was strange. Julia asked for it. Julia brought it upon herself. The final straw was this: before Julia had gotten pulled into a higher math class, she was the only one in pre-algebra to ever do her homework. When their teacher one day decided, without warning or precedence, to collect their homework, and Julia was the only one who turned it in, he gave them a pop quiz. And since she didn＊t know any of the answers, Liz took a piece of notebook paper and passed it around the class so that each person could write down one thing they thought of Julia. They said things like ※You＊re not even that pretty§ and ※Go back to where you came from.§ Some drew pictures and some drew diagrams, arrows linking words like weird and stuck-up and annoying. When the piece of paper made its way back to Liz, she folded it up and slid it across the table to Julia. Julia＊s expression hadn＊t changed when she read it. She didn＊t cry, not even a little bit, and heads had swiveled and faces had twisted in surprise, confusion, disbelief〞but no one was more shocked than Liz. She could barely keep her jaw from dropping through the floor. Their teacher gave them a ten-minute warning, and everyone snapped back to attention. Except Julia. Julia was done with her pop quiz, so she flipped the notebook paper over and wrote a single word across the back. Then she folded it into a neat square and passed it back to Liz. It was the first time Liz had ever been called a bitch. It was then, in pre-algebra, with a blank pop quiz before her, a wrinkled piece of notebook paper in her lap, and an ugly truth staring up at her, that Liz decided that she and Julia would be friends. So they were. Of course Julia took the opportunity. Sadness or popularity? It was not a difficult choice. She used Liz, as anyone else would have. For the first few months, they were not friends, but amid the melodrama, they became allies. But one day, later that year, as Julia, Liz, and Kennie sat together during a mind-numbing assembly about internet safety, Liz leaned over and whispered to Julia that 34.42 percent of all assembly speakers carried fake boobs around in their briefcases, and when Liz pointed out the speaker＊s briefcase, Julia had laughed so hard that she had snorted. About six teachers whipped around to shush them, but they had already dissolved into the kind of laughter that made them stupid and helpless, carefree. While the three of them were doubled over, stomachs aching and cheeks cramping, Julia looked over and realized that sometime between then and now, Liz had become her best friend. And then she had laughed again, because there was something entirely wonderful about being best friends with Liz Emerson. .................................................................. CHAPTER EIGHT Not Yet Monica Emerson loses her composure slowly as she walks toward the ICU. It flakes off and leaves a trail behind her, and I keep my eyes on her face. She＊s still calm through the first hallway, the second, the third. But as they turn deeper into the hospital, she begins to crack. She has not cried in public since her husband＊s funeral. Now she does, knowing that she may soon have to plan her daughter＊s. They are small tears, silent, at first〞then the doctor opens the doors to the ICU and she sees the rows and rows of beds and bodies, these barely human things stuffed full of oxygen and tubes and not yets. She sees Liz among them. Monica thinks of the maternity ward upstairs, and the tears come a little harder. How Liz had screamed〞indignantly, as though they had kept her waiting for too long. She remembers her first moments of motherhood. She does not know how to prepare for her last. She walks closer and sees Liz beneath a thin blanket, her shoulders wrapped in some hideous hospital thing. Her toes peek out. The nail polish is chipped. Blue, once. Glittery, maybe. As Monica sits down and looks at the unnatural color of Liz＊s face, her composure crumbles entirely. There is a very good chance that Liz will die here, two floors beneath where she was born. She will never go to prom, never take her SATs, never apply for college, never graduate, and it＊s terrifying because Liz already looks dead. Liz looks like she could be packed in a coffin and shoved into the ground. All Monica wants to do is put her arms around what remains of her daughter, as she hasn＊t done in so long. But Liz is a tangle of needles and tubes, fragile as ice on an ocean. So her mother only sits there. The problem with Monica＊s brief and imminently ending motherhood is that it was always her greatest fear, being a parent. She doesn＊t know how to do it, especially not after she buried Liz＊s father. She had been smothered as a child and she tried too hard to be perfect, and here lies the final proof of her failure. I almost put my hands on her shoulders〞they＊re thin, sharp, just like Liz＊s〞and tell her It＊s okay, it＊s not your fault, she was already breaking, but I don＊t. It＊s hard to lie when the truth is dying in front of you. Monica runs her fingers across Liz＊s raggedly chewed nails, and she still doesn＊t see. I forget the lies and try to whisper the truth in her ear, but she can＊t hear me over the beeping machines. A nurse watches us. She gives us ten minutes, fifteen, before she breaks away from the clump of monitors in the center of the room. Her scrubs are covered in pink dinosaurs, and they look out of place among the grays and blues〞she looks out of place, a little too hopeful, a little too brave. She is very gentle when she touches Monica＊s arm and says, ※I＊m sorry. I can＊t let you stay any longer, ma＊am. The risk of infection is too high.§ It＊s kind and very blunt, and I like that she doesn＊t hide behind bullshit. She doesn＊t say Liz is strong, because she isn＊t right now. Monica almost refuses. But she takes a long look at the stranger who is her daughter, and after a moment, she nods. She reaches out for her, but at the last instant, her fingers tremble and she pulls back. SNAPSHOT: BAND-AID Liz is sitting on the kitchen counter, a Band-Aid on her knee. Monica is trying to hug her, and Liz is pushing her away. A little while before, she had been jumping rope by herself in the driveway, humming the theme song from Arthur. The world had started coming into focus by then, the sky had grown flat and distant, and I was starting to fade. She had jumped three hundred and sixty-eight times when a bug flew into her mouth. She screeched and tripped, her legs tangling in the rope. She fell and tore her knee open, and when I tried to help her, she didn＊t notice. She had gone inside, trying very hard not to cry. Monica sat her on the kitchen counter and patched her up, all the while telling her how brave she was. It went to Liz＊s head a bit, so when Monica tried to hug her, Liz pushed her away and said, ※I＊m fine, Mom! It＊s nothing. Just leave me alone.§ Monica＊s heart broke a little bit, and she never tried to hug Liz again. Later, I would try to push them back together, but neither would budge. There were little gestures after that〞a pat on the back on Christmas, a squeeze across the shoulders on the first day of school. But Monica was too afraid of being overbearing, and Liz tried too hard to be strong. So there were no more hugs in the Emerson household. .................................................................. CHAPTER NINE Voicemail Monica doesn＊t go back to the waiting room. She finds a chair and drags it to the hallway outside the ICU, and her arms are shaking so badly that she drops it twice. She positions it beside the doors, reaches into her purse, and pulls out her phone. She makes three calls. The first, to her boss, to let him know that her daughter is in the hospital and she will not be going to work, or to Bangkok that weekend. The second, to the airline, to cancel her reservation. And the third, to her daughter, so she can hear her voice on the recorded message. ※Hey. It＊s Liz. I obviously can＊t answer at the moment, so leave a message.§ Monica calls again and again, and she doesn＊t know why, but each time she expects a different ending. CHAPTER TEN Popularity: An Analysis Kennie half trips off the bus, stretching her sleeping leg as she wobbles across the parking lot. Out of habit, Kennie looks around for Liz＊s Mercedes, or Julia＊s Ford Falcon (which, despite Liz＊s endless teasing and the fact that Julia has access to both of her father＊s Porsches, she refuses to get rid of). They always went to each other＊s meets games and competitions〞she had even sat through their soccer tournaments, every single one, though she never knew when to cheer. But then she remembers that Julia is buried alive in homework and Liz apparently had something else to do today, so no one is here to watch her dance. That＊s the thing about Kennie〞she has always liked being watched. Whereas Julia dislikes attention and Liz hardly seems to notice it, Kennie needs it like certain other people need cocaine. She＊s the kind of person who says things that make jaws drop. She likes it when people stare and talk and judge, because it means that someone is always thinking about her. It＊s what popularity means to her, and Kennie, frankly, has always been popular. Meridian is a Small Town, the kind that＊s as faithful to football as religion, the kind with a number of strange habits that define us and them, the kind with an unspoken and unyielding caste system. Popularity in Meridian extends beyond high school〞it encompasses the entire community, the churches and stores and workplaces. There＊s a clique of ten or so families that has been around for as long as Meridian, and they have spawned nearly all of the jocks, preps, and prom court members. A much greater percentage of the town falls into the social middle: those who live in the small gated community by the country club (because the elite does not, in fact, represent the economic pinnacle of Meridian, and is just the slightest bit resentful of those who do), and almost everyone else. And then there are the shamefully poor, the newcomers, the other anomalies; it is generally agreed that this group is not to be associated with. Liz knew which group she would be in when she moved to Meridian. I wasn＊t sure it was a good idea, but she was〞she was certain that she knew how to be happy. The dance team takes their places on stage, and Kennie looks around the crowd again for Liz＊s face, or Julia＊s, and she gives a small huff when she doesn＊t see either. I＊m more important than homework. She doesn＊t think about why she expects them, because her family belongs to the first group. Kennie is always surrounded by friends〞her mother is a teacher at the elementary school and the high school track coach, her father is a church deacon and works at the bank and sits on the school board, and her great-great-great-great-grandfather＊s face is framed in the municipal building alongside the other nine original residents of Meridian. Liz, a relative newcomer, should have fallen into the last group. For that matter, Julia should have too〞and she had, until Liz pulled her out. Kennie doesn＊t pay attention to popularity much, because she＊s always had it, but she＊s suddenly very glad that Liz and Julia fell into the right group, hers, even if she doesn＊t quite know why. She can＊t afford to think about it too hard, because the position she holds is an extraordinarily uncomfortable one and the music is about to start, but thinking doesn＊t take too much effort. Liz is Liz. Popularity, Kennie decides, has a lot to do with confidence. And to Kennie, Liz has more confidence than the rest of Meridian put together. Despite the fact that Kennie is one of the few people in the world who has seen Liz cry and lash out in frustration, who has seen the part of Liz Emerson that the rest of her tries so hard to hide, Liz is still invincible to her. Whatever Kennie＊s life looks like from the outside, there is little stability where she stands. Liz is her constant. Liz keeps her steady when her parents fight and her grades dip and her world wobbles. Kennie counts down the last beats, and bursts into the rehearsed spins and leaps and toe touches, and she doesn＊t think anymore. CHAPTER ELEVEN The Junior Class ※And where did you say you were headed, son?§ ※Costco,§ says Liam. He faces the cop but watches the door out of the corner of his eye. It opens again, and this time the night carries in Lily Maxime and Andrea Carsten, who are undoubtedly here to confirm the rumors. They hate Liz Emerson because she ignored them. Their eyes are red, and they start sobbing when they reach the group of Meridian students huddled around a low table. There are a hundred and forty-three students in Liam＊s graduating class, and a good third of them are here tonight. He can＊t figure out why. Liz Emerson slipped on the goddamn road〞clearly tonight is not a night to be driving around in the dark. ※I was running errands for my mom,§ he adds. ※And you saw Elizabeth＊s car as you drove past?§ Liz Emerson, he corrects automatically in his head. She is always Liz Emerson to him. He doesn＊t think he knows her well enough to call her exclusively by her first name. But then again, he doesn＊t know her well enough to think of her as often as he does, either. ※Yeah.§ ※How did you know it was her car?§ ※I＊d know her car anywhere.§ This he says without thinking, and regrets it when the police officer asks, ※Were you good friends?§ ※No,§ says Liam. ※Not really.§ Not at all. The police officer gives him a strange look. Liam doesn＊t care. He is watching his classmates again, huddled around each other and whispering, crying into each other＊s shoulders. Not just crying〞sobbing these awful sobs that made everything shake, and Liam wants to scream that she isn＊t dead. She is alive right now, down the hall somewhere〞not whole, but alive, and everyone is sobbing like she＊s already gone. Half of these people have no reason to be here. Most of these people, really. Liam wonders what Liz Emerson would do if she knew that Jessie Klayn, who flips her off once a day when her back is turned, had already gone through an entire box of tissues. And Lena Farr too〞Lena Farr, who had spent all of lunch today ranting about what a selfish bitch Liz Emerson is. Liam had heard it all from the next table over. Laugh, probably. Liz Emerson would laugh, and he is glad she wasn＊t here to see it, because Liz Emerson did not have a nice laugh anymore. She had a laugh like a knife on skin. ※All right,§ says the police officer. ※Well, that＊s it for now. We might track you down later, though, kid.§ ※I＊ll be here.§ He doesn＊t know he means it until he says it aloud. Liz is not a selfish bitch. If she were, she wouldn＊t have planned anything, everything. But she did. CHAPTER TWELVE Three Weeks Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car It was January 1, and Liz had just come home to an empty house after a New Year＊s Eve party. She was drunker than she had ever been in her life, and it was not a particularly enjoyable experience. She stumbled into the foyer and leaned against the door to keep herself upright, and swallowed a few times to delay the puke. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the pulsing lights impressed upon her personal darkness, and it made her dizzy. She gave up, and slid to the floor, her head pounding, everything spinning. She needed someone, anyone, to touch her and remind her that she wasn＊t the last person in the world. She opened her eyes and found the chandelier instead. The light was blinding, like angels, like angels falling and flying and coming for her, and she tried to think of a reason to go on. She couldn＊t. But she could think of a thousand reasons to give up. She thought of her father dying. She thought of how her mother wouldn＊t be home for another week. She thought of Kyle Jordan＊s lips on hers and his hands on her body, just an hour ago. And she closed her eyes, and thought about how he was Kennie＊s boyfriend, but she had kissed him back anyway, because she had never felt so alone as she had then, drunk and stupid and trying not to cry at a stranger＊s party. But, god, how could she explain that to Kennie? She couldn＊t, ever. She opened her eyes again. The light still stabbed and the angels still fell, and she began to plan her suicide. She thought of stuffing herself with pills. She thought of filling her bathtub with water and making those long cuts across her arms. She thought of scarves and pantyhose, and hanging from the loft like an ornament. She thought of a quick shot, a bright explosion. But did they didn＊t have a gun. Did they? Liz couldn＊t remember. She couldn＊t remember anything. She was curled in a ball in the middle of the foyer when the numbness faded and the tears came, and she sobbed with her face pressed against the hardwood. She washed the floor with her tears and polished it with her snot, and finally she had three rules. First, it would be an accident. Or it would look like one. It would look like anything but suicide, and no one would ever wonder what they did wrong, what made her give up. She would die, and maybe everyone would forget that she had ever lived. Second, she would do it in a month. Well, three weeks. She would do it on the tenth anniversary of the day her dad fell off the roof and broke his neck. She would give her mother just this one day of sadness every year, instead of two. And three, she would do it somewhere far away. She wanted a stranger to find her body, so no one she loved would see her broken. They didn＊t work, her rules. Liam found her. Liam, who had loved her since the first day of fifth grade, was driving down the interstate when he turned and saw her, the bright green of her sweater visible through what remained of the window. Her mother is crying silent tears in the hallway outside the ICU, whispering her daughter＊s name and her husband＊s name, over and over again like a prayer, the tears pooling on the backs of her shaking hands and falling, falling, falling. And I won＊t forget. I promise her what no one else can. I promise her, always. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Midnight It＊s very quiet. Distant buzzing, background beeping. The waiting room is mostly empty. Liam has fallen asleep. The zipper of his hoodie is caught between his face and the window, imprinting the pattern of teeth across his cheek and lips. In his pocket, his dying phone vibrates with yet another call from his frantic mother, but it isn＊t enough to wake him up. Down the hall, Monica Emerson is asleep too, her head against the wall. The nurse with the pink dinosaurs on her scrubs walks by and sees her, and goes for a blanket. As she tucks it around Monica＊s shoulders, Monica stirs and whispers her daughter＊s name. Upstairs, Julia sits in the cafeteria with her fingers wrapped around her third Red Bull. Tonight is the first time she＊s ever tried one. She doesn＊t like the taste, not at all, and she hates the tremors, but at least she＊s awake. She must stay awake, and she repeats it to herself as though it＊ll keep her eyelids from fluttering shut. She can＊t sleep tonight. She won＊t. She must be awake when〞if, if〞bad news comes, because she cannot bear the idea of waking to it. Kennie is just getting home. The competition results got delayed due to some scoring mix-up, and they were there for hours longer than they should have been. It doesn＊t matter. They won. Cheeks sore, stomach cramped. She slips through the garage door into a dark house. Her parents are both awake in their separate bedrooms, her father working and her mother reading, but she doesn＊t want to see either of them. She needs to charge her phone〞it is dead in her pocket, and their coach has a strict ※no phones at competitions§ rule, anyway. They＊re supposed to focus or bond or some other crap, though no one would have agreed to it had there been any service at all. She plugs it in and goes to the bathroom. Shower. Sparkles and spandex for a worn pair of pajamas. She comes back and checks her phone in the dark〞her mother has just yelled for her to go to bed, she has school tomorrow〞and opens her Facebook app. Wet hair atop her head, a story through statuses. Oh my god I can＊t believe it Liz Emerson crashed her car she＊s in the hospital she doesn＊t look good she＊s dying she＊s dead she＊s not she is be safe Liz we＊re praying for you we＊re praying praying praying. She screams for her parents and runs into the hallway with the screen of her phone glaring. They refuse to let her drive to the hospital. She goes back to her room with sobs tearing her apart. She lies in the darkness, surrounded by pillows and an impossible amount of fear. SNAPSHOT: TWO We＊re on the roof. It＊s flat, a balcony that they never added a railing to. A few feet away, Liz＊s father is fixing a leak. She is pulling the chalk across the freezing surface and singing. Her breath hangs in the air. She draws two little girls, as always. The first looks like her〞a bundle girl today, boots and hat and puffy cloud coat. The second is never the same. Today, I wear a pink sequined dress. I have the hair of her favorite doll and a pair of shoes she＊s designing herself. The wind invites the powder snow to dance, and the sun is everywhere. Soon, we will get bored and put the chalk away, but right now, we are happy. We draw. We sing. She finishes the heel of my shoe. Her fingers are chapped. It is the last picture I will ever be in. CHAPTER FOURTEEN Fifty-Eight Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car She was still in Meridian then, just turning onto the interstate. Her backpack was beside her in the passenger seat〞exams started next Monday, so it held every single one of her textbooks. She had filled it out of habit, and now she wished she hadn＊t. Textbooks were expensive. Her grades were still mostly decent, if only because someone was sure to notice if they had nose-dived. She was glad her GPA was still intact. At least something was. But, she supposed, none of that mattered anymore. She hadn＊t finished the last physics project; her grade, which had been hovering precariously at a C minus, had surely dipped with that zero. She＊d managed to keep an A until they started talking about Newton〞whom Mr. Eliezer had introduced as a lifelong virgin, like, Let＊s study this dude who was so obsessed with physics that he didn＊t even want to have sex, isn＊t he incredible?〞and somewhere in the sudden flood of velocity and inertia and force, Liz had started falling behind. She just didn＊t get physics. So there were all these theories and laws, and they＊d spend weeks picking them apart, and in the end, Mr. Eliezer would tell them that they had to factor in air resistance and friction and all this other crap, so most of them couldn＊t even be applied. It seemed sketchy to her, a science dependent upon the uncertainties of life. Still. It was nice, the idea that she would never have to stress about homework or grades or Newton the goddamn virgin ever again. But she turned onto the on ramp too sharply, and her backpack kept moving in one direction while the car turned in another. It thudded to the floor of the car, and Liz starting thinking about moving objects and Newton＊s First Law. Objects at rest stay at rest, objects in motion stay in motion. CHAPTER FIFTEEN One Day After Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car Liz has always hated missing school. She hates making up work and wondering what happened without her. Did people talk about her? Did they call her slut and skank and worse things while she was gone? She always talks about people behind their backs, so she assumes that everyone else does too. Liz has gone to school with hangovers and migraines, bruises and sprains, colds and stomach flus, and once with a sore throat that started an epidemic of strep throughout the entire district. But today, with a missing spleen and a broken leg and a shattered hand and a ruptured lung and too much internal bruising to document, it seems unlikely that Liz Emerson will attend school. Julia too stays at the hospital with what must be her tenth can of Red Bull wobbling in her hands. Monica is there, of course, and Liam, who hadn＊t intended to stay at the hospital, is still asleep against the window. Everyone else is already at school. Within the walls of Meridian High School, there is a hush like smoke, like smog. Breathing it is like breathing January air〞it stings with each inhale, freezes inside each lung. An hour away, Liz is dying in St. Bartholomew＊s, but here, she is already dead. The rumors have made it very clear that there is little hope for Liz Emerson. The worst place is the cafeteria, where most of the school congregates before the bell rings, copying homework and gossiping. I get a glimpse as I walk by, a glimpse of the shock and tears, and it＊s so strange, the silence, the sniffling. How Liz would have hated it. She would have known that most of them aren＊t crying for her. They＊re crying for themselves, for fear of death, for the loss of faith in their own invincibility, because if Liz Emerson is mortal, they all are. The teachers are having an emergency faculty meeting, where they receive hastily photocopied sheets of ※Things to Say to Distraught Students.§ The principal breaks down when she tells everyone that the only reason Liz is still alive is because a machine is moving her lungs. But I think at least a few of the teachers must be relieved, just a little, that Liz Emerson is no longer going to be attending their classes. Spanish, because Liz blatantly texted every single day and never participated in class. English, because Liz deliberately formed opinions directly opposite those of the teacher＊s. Definitely study hall, because Liz Emerson＊s very presence inspired everyone else to do stupid things. It isn＊t that Liz minds authority, exactly. It＊s just that she once liked being Liz Emerson and she liked showing it, and that meant challenging teachers and daring them to challenge her back. And it doesn＊t matter that she grew to hate it〞she couldn＊t stop. The teachers who cry: Ms. Hamilton, who teaches psychology and cries at everything; Mrs. Haas, who teaches world history and was actually worried out of her mind; and Mr. Eliezer, Liz＊s physics teacher. He scratches his jaw, and no one notices the tears in his eyes. It seems unlikely that Liz will ever get her physics grade back up. Liz Emerson had failed physics so utterly that she couldn＊t even crash her car right. Upstairs, Kennie＊s sobbing fills the hallway〞it＊s louder, perhaps, than strictly necessary. Everyone is watching her, and a small and despicable part of Kennie enjoys the attention. She doesn＊t bother feeling guilty about it. Her best friend is dying, and her other best friend didn＊t even call her with the news. Kennie finds comfort in not being alone; Julia finds it in the quiet. So Julia is skipping school and is still at the hospital, where Monica has finally found her, and Kennie is a mess of running mascara. Liz, though, found her brand of comfort〞numbness, forgetting〞in throwing things and watching them shatter. She found it in taking her Mercedes out and driving thirty, forty above the speed limit, with the sunroof open so that the wind whipped her hair all around her. She found it in being reckless, careless, stupid. Once, Liz found comfort in me. Once, she found it in holding my hand and dreaming until our dreams came true. Once, she found it in simply being alive. Eventually, she could no longer find comfort in anything. By the end, she was just another girl stuffed full of forgotten dreams, until she crashed her car and she wasn＊t even that. .................................................................. CHAPTER SIXTEEN Empty Seat Liz has photography first hour, and nothing gets done without her. Kennie and Julia are supposed to be in this class too, but they don＊t make it. The majority of the class〞the girls, at least〞sits in tears, and Mr. Dempsey, the art teacher, is more than willing to let them take it easy. He is terrified that he might actually have to use the ※Things to Say to Distraught Students§ handout. He goes to his office and pulls Liz＊s portfolio out of his filing cabinet; he flips through her photos, black-and-white prints, colored and edited ones, and tries to remember the girl behind the camera. Most of the shots have hasty Bs dashed across the backs. Mr. Dempsey is the kind of teacher who gets so caught up with a piece of canvas that he often fails to notice when students walk in and out of class. He ignores bells and schedules, fails to hear fire drills (though, admittedly, that＊s only happened once so far), and he typically grades haphazardly, at the last minute. It＊s not that he doesn＊t care. It＊s just that he usually forgets. Liz has never made much of an impression on him. He knows Julia much better, because she＊s the most talented student he＊s ever had, and they have had long discussions about aperture and different lighting techniques and the best brand of Earl Grey tea. And he has no choice but to know Kennie, because he＊s always telling her to shut up or sit down or not to spill that particular caustic chemical. Liz, though〞this was perhaps the one class that Liz Emerson sat through quietly. This class appealed to the little girl she wasn＊t anymore, the part of her that was still amazed every time she clicked the shutter and captured a moment. And her photos. Mr. Dempsey＊s vision blurs slightly as he sifts through them. There are close-ups of gravel strewn across a lawn. Tire tracks in the parking lot. Flowers too close to the road. Trampled, frost-choked grass. A cloudy sky through bare branches. The emotion disarms him. He has never noticed the rawness of Liz Emerson＊s photos before, and now he sits guilt-stricken as he realizes that this is the first time he has really looked at them. The photos slide off his lap and onto the floor. He makes a halfhearted attempt to catch them, but then lets them fall, watching as they drift down around him. He leans back in his chair and just looks at it all, the final diary of a dying girl. Second hour pre-calc is filled with jocks and preps and other social elites whom Liz considered more than acquaintances but less than friends. They considered themselves much more than that, though, so when Ms. Greenberg says, ※Take out last night＊s assignment,§ the class just stares at her. Finally, a braver and slightly desperate student speaks up. ※C＊mon, Ms. Greenberg. You can＊t really think that we＊re able to concentrate at a time like this. . . .§ Ms. Greenberg fixes him with her piercing signature stare. ※Were you at the hospital last night, Mr. Loven?§ ※No,§ he mutters. ※Then I expect you were neither physically nor emotionally incapable of completing your assignment. Please take it out.§ Turns out, most people didn＊t finish the assignment. Ms. Greenberg docks points from all of them. After going over the homework and answering questions for the three people who actually did it, Ms. Greenberg, ignoring the incredulous stares of the class, hands out note packets for the lesson. She writes Liz＊s name across the top of one and puts it in the folder marked ABSENT. ※Ms. Greenberg . . .§ ※Yes?§ Carly Blake hesitates. She plays soccer with Liz and they usually sit at the same lunch table, but she＊s no closer to Liz than any of her other more-than-acquaintances-less-than-friends, and I think Ms. Greenberg knows this. Certainly her look doesn＊t waver as Carly＊s lip wobbles. ※I just don＊t think . . . I just don＊t know if we can〞I mean, Liz is just so . . . and we＊re all so worried . . .§ Ms. Greenberg actually glares at her, and Carly trails off into silence. Ms. Greenberg puts down the note packets and looks around the classroom. No one meets her eyes. ※All right,§ she says. ※That＊s enough. I want you all to remember that Ms. Emerson is not dead. Stop acting like she is. Until I have been notified that she is, indeed, destined for a coffin, I refuse to believe that she is. So yes, I will hold her notes and schedule a day for her to make up her quiz, though I＊m sure she＊ll blatantly ignore both. For those of you who are using Liz＊s accident as a reason to neglect your work, I assure you it＊s a weak and despicable excuse.§ If another teacher had given such a speech, the class would have mutinied. A lot of things can be said about the student body of Meridian High school, but no one can accuse them of disloyalty. Liz is theirs, and they would have defended her to the death〞or to a detention, whichever came first〞if they needed to. But Ms. Greenberg has long been loved and hated for her bluntness, and there＊s something in her gaze that makes them all feel terribly ashamed. There, in that classroom, I feel the tides turning. The period ends, and everyone rushes off. The rumors shift. All gossip, they say. Liz isn＊t on her deathbed. Liz is no longer dead, but recovering. After all, she is Liz Emerson. Just before third period, Julia comes back to school. For the first time in her life, she is a mess. Having spent the night at the hospital, she wears the same sweatpants and shirt with the hole in the armpit. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and she is so pale that her skin is almost green. From the moment she steps foot in the building, she is surrounded by sympathizers, but she hardly notices. Julia has had her share of tragedy over the years, but they were tragedies contained within her world〞her parents＊ divorce, her brittle and strained relationship with her father, the death of her gerbil. Liz＊s accident, however, is a terrifyingly immense thing, and try as she might, Julia cannot keep it within herself. She left the hospital in a vain attempt to escape it. She came to school, and it found her here too. Next, chemistry. Liz was supposed to take it during her sophomore year, but due to scheduling conflicts and an extraordinarily unhelpful counselor, she is stuck taking both chemistry and physics during her junior year. It＊s really a pity, because Liz had been looking forward to chemistry since the brief unit in sixth grade. It was the colors that had initially attracted her, the vibrant blue of the Bunsen flame and the dusty red of copper and the deep violet of hydrates. It was the logic of balanced equations, the certainty that when element A mixed with element B, compound C would appear. It was like predicting the future; it was like magic. Most of all, it was being: of having to be so careful with the hydrochloric acid, of accidentally burning herself while lighting a match, of discovering. Only, by the time she finally got to take the class, school had already stopped mattering. Today there is no lab. There is no lecture. The class sits silently, in a darkness lit only by the episode of MythBusters on the screen. They stare at the empty chair. They remember the first day of fifth grade, when Liz arrived and disrupted Meridian as only she could. Liz Emerson, they think, has always been a force to be noticed. They are wrong. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Before On the first day of preschool, Liz dug her fingers into the leg of her father＊s jeans and held on tight as the overly sunny teacher tried to drag her into the overly sunny classroom. Her dad leaned down and told her to make a wish. Tearfully, Liz asked her daddy to stay with her. He promised to never leave. On the first day of school after her father＊s funeral, Monica dropped Liz off for the first time. Monica didn＊t try to hug her, and Liz didn＊t ask her to stay. On the first day of fifth grade at Meridian Elementary School, Liz jumped off the swings during recess and headed for the kickball diamond. She kicked a ball into Jimmy Travis＊s face, gave him a bloody nose, won her team the game, and sat down at the popular table during lunch without being asked. She never left. On the first day of middle school, Liz walked into the building with Kennie at her side. At recess that day, Jimmy Travis told her that she was pretty, and she kissed him beside the swings. They were the first official couple. She dumped him two weeks later when he refused to let her copy his math homework, and from then on, Liz Emerson was rarely without a boyfriend. She didn＊t really like any of them. On the day after eighth-grade graduation, she went to her first party and kissed an older boy named Zack Hayes, who he had given her a red Solo cup. She tried the beer and hated it, but she drained the cup anyway and he refilled it for her. It made the world dissolve and scatter around her like petals, and it wasn＊t unpleasant. When she wobbled and fell, he caught her and carried her into a bedroom but didn＊t leave, and she couldn＊t find the words to ask him to. Julia found them later and pulled her away, but Liz wasn＊t sure what had happened before she got there. On the first day of her freshman year, an upperclassman named Lori Andersen elbowed Liz into a locker and called her a stupid freshman. During lunch, Liz stole Lori＊s car keys while Lori was in the lunch line, turned the car alarm on, and threw the keys in a toilet. Then, while Lori was fuming, Liz offered her sympathies and a coupon to the salon for a free facial waxing. Lori, who had an unfortunate habit of underestimating freshmen, took it. That particular salon was owned by Kennie＊s uncle. He＊d opened it when he got out of prison and found out that he could get paid to pull hair out of people. Liz called him and told him that Lori would be coming by after school. She asked him to please give her the special, free of charge. He replied that it would be his pleasure. The next day, Lori came to school with newly cut bangs. It wasn＊t the best look for her, though her friends assured her that it was adorable. It went well until Lori went outside for gym, and the wind blew her bangs back. It was then that everyone saw that Lori Andersen no longer had eyebrows. Liz took Lori＊s place at the Center Table in the Cafeteria That Looked Exactly Like All the Other Tables but Held Immense Social Meaning. Later, she would wonder what would have happened if she had let her world change as it should have changed. On nights when she remembered Lori Andersen＊s missing eyebrows, she told herself that it would have happened anyway. Lori＊s grades would have dropped anyway. She would have had to work at Subway instead of going to college anyway. And besides, her eyebrows grew back. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Ziplock Bags Liz＊s next class is government. They were supposed to debate the death penalty, but today, even the affirmative squad wants to argue that no one deserves to die. Besides, they＊re missing a member of their team. Liz is not fantastic at debate, pointwise. She just happens to like arguing, and she has an incredible talent for making others look stupid. Julia is also in this class, but she hates debating. It isn＊t that she＊s not eloquent〞she could probably win every debate based on her vocabulary alone〞but she doesn＊t understand absolutes. She doesn＊t see why one side is completely right and the other completely wrong. Which isn＊t to say that Julia is any more secure in her morals than Liz is. Julia has plenty of issues, the greatest being the ziplock bag she buys from the RadioShack pervert every Sunday after church. Julia sits there and thinks about the fight she and Liz had the day before yesterday. Just two days ago. Julia glances at the clock and hates it for its blind, relentless ticking, because every moment that passes is another step from yesterday, when Liz was whole and alive, and the world was all right. It was an old fight. Or at least it had brewed for long enough〞three days ago it had simply exploded, burst from both of them, and now it stretches across the hours and hours to hang over them like a storm. Julia wants to go back to the hospital. She wants to apologize. No, she wants to say that she will do as Liz asked, she will get help, she will move the world to keep Liz Emerson alive. But she can＊t. Get help, or move the world. Instead she thinks about how it all began, and the regret grows and grows until it＊s almost a tangible thing that she can rip out and bury and undo. Almost. It started after their freshman homecoming game. They were sitting behind the bleachers with an innocuous bag of white powder, which Liz had seen peeking out of a stranger＊s pocket. Naturally, she had stolen it so they could try it. Just a little bit each. Kennie was excited, because she was Kennie and new things, no matter how stupid, made her bounce. Liz was rather indifferent to it all. She was only doing it because she was Liz Emerson. But Julia〞Julia was skeptical on the outside and so, so scared on the inside. Her hands were shaking as she watched Liz inhale, as Kennie tried and choked and got it in her eyes. Her hands shook as she took the bag and opened it, and they shook when she hesitated. Liz laughed. Julia did it because of the way Liz stared at her, daring her to take the risk for once. So she did. She took the risk while Liz and Kennie forgot everything their middle-school health teacher had ever taught them〞assuming that they had actually listened in the first place. That drugs worked differently on everyone. That you really could get addicted on the first try. Julia remembered. It didn＊t matter. Soon Kennie couldn＊t sit still, Liz was laughing, and Julia was still shaking. Pleasantly, at first, but as the other two began to quiet down, she shook harder because her fingers kept reaching for more, until there was none left. Two days before Liz crashed her car, Julia decided that she＊d had enough. Her grades were slipping, and sometimes she couldn＊t breathe. Her father had just lost some money on the stock market and was still paying ridiculous amounts of alimony, and her ※borrowed§ drug allowance wouldn＊t go unnoticed for much longer. And Liz〞well, Liz was fine, wasn＊t she? She wasn＊t throwing money at the RadioShack guy. She didn＊t know about Julia＊s Sundays, when the world was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she was in the dark, alone, trapped in a body that would never again obey her mind. I didn＊t ruin my life, Liz. You did. But now Liz is almost gone and Julia sits choking on regret, and that＊s the ironic thing〞why didn＊t she feel guilty earlier? Why only now, now that Liz is dying in a white room beneath fluorescent lights? Why is it that she＊s remembering the way Liz＊s face looked after Julia had thrown the blame at her? She＊d had strangest expression. Like something was breaking inside of her too. Julia stares at the clock. She imagines climbing on the desk and pulling it down, rewinding the hands and praying the rest of the world would follow. She sees the bodies blurring and walking backward, until she is in the hallway again with Liz right there, begging her to stop, stop, get help. She wonders what might have been different if she＊d agreed. The bell rings, and Julia walks out of the classroom and out the door. The one by the band room, the one no one ever watched, the one in a nook away from the cameras. She, Liz, and Kennie had done it a hundred times before. She heads back to the hospital. Funny things, aren＊t they? People. They＊re so limited. Seeing is believing and all that. As though watching Liz will keep her alive. As though by remembering, they know her, intimately. As though they guard all of her secrets, and if by staying close, they can keep her safe. I think it must be because they can only see so much of the world. All those boundaries〞pupils to focus, lids to close, distances to cross, time to navigate. Don＊t they realize? Thought exists everywhere. What Julia doesn＊t know is this: Liz knew. Liz had always known that the drug was tearing Julia＊s life apart. She knew that it was her fault. She knew that the ziplock bags made Julia lonely, but she didn＊t know how to help. Some nights, Liz looked back and counted the bodies, all those lives she had ruined simply by existing. So she chose to stop existing. CHAPTER NINETEEN The Brown Couch, New Year＊s Day After Liz puked, she went down to the basement with a marker and sat on the couch. The couch〞an old brown thing, stained with memories and orange juice instead of hangovers and wine. Monica had stored it down here after she bought the white couch, and when Liz put her face in the fabric, it smelled of dust. No one came down here much. This couch was one of the last pieces of furniture from their old house, from that other life, when Liz had a father who would never leave and a mother who didn＊t have any grief to bury in her work. When she had me. She rolled up her sleeve and wrote her three rules across her arm, so she wouldn＊t forget. She underlined them, and added: HERE LIES LIZ EMERSON. SNAPSHOT: HIDING The house is white with blue shutters, and there is something indefinably cozy about it. To the side, Liz is behind a bush, her hands pushing the leaves apart. We have played at least a thousand games of hide-and-seek here. Liz counts to a hundred and then searches everywhere, as though she can＊t hear me giggling, as though I ever hide anywhere except behind the brown couch. Soon Liz will begin to grow up. The older she gets, the less interested she will be in searching, the more easily distracted she will be by television and snacks and stories, the less she will care if I am ever found. One day, she will count, and I will hide behind the brown couch. She will forget to seek.