Lessons From A Dead Girl Part 7

"What the h.e.l.l is that for?" Christi asks.

"What do you think it's for?" Leah says. She touches the tip of the knife to the inside of her arm, slowly running it down to her wrist. The now half-empty gla.s.s spills a bit as she does it.

"Jesus!" Christi yells.

"Relax," Leah says, taking the blade away so we can see a speck of blood form a tiny bubble at her wrist. She smiles at us.

"G.o.d, Leah. Put it down or give it to me," Christi says. "It's not funny."

"You want it, Christi? Or do you want some of this?" Leah holds out her gla.s.s to Christi. Christi reaches for the gla.s.s, but Leah quickly pulls it away and chugs the rest of it. "Sorry, you'll have to make your own. I'm sure you wouldn't want something I put my mouth on, anyway."

"Give me the knife, Leah," Christi says. "You're drunk. You're going to hurt yourself."

"C'mon, Leah," I try, finally finding my voice again. "This is dumb."

"Like you care," she says. She touches the blade to her wrist again, spilling a remaining ice cube on the floor.

"I - I do care, Leah. What the h.e.l.l?"

"Put the knife down. Now," Christi says, stepping toward her.

Leah keeps the knife pressed to her wrist.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.

"Would you really care, Laine? Would you care if I did it? Or would you be relieved?" She runs the knife across her wrist again, leaving a tiny red line.

Without thinking, I step forward and s.n.a.t.c.h it out of her hand.

"I'm calling Mom and Dad," Christi says.

"Oh, please." Leah rolls her eyes. "It was only a joke. You don't think I'd really do it, do you?" She starts to head down the stairs as if nothing has happened.

"You pa.s.sed the test, Laine!" she calls back over her shoulder. "I guess you still f.u.c.king care after all."

"What a psycho," Christi says. She walks back to her room and slams the door, leaving me standing in the hallway alone. I look down at the small knife in my hand. It has blood on it. Mine.

I don't know why, but I don't want Christi to see, so I go to the downstairs bathroom. Leah is there, fixing her hair. I ignore her and open the cabinet to find a bandage.

"Oh, f.u.c.k!" she says when she sees my hand. "Are you OK?"

"Do you care?" I ask.

A car horn in the driveway interrupts my cold stare.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t," Leah says. "I've gotta go. I'm really sorry, all right? It was only a joke. Seriously, are you OK?"

Behind the makeup she actually looks concerned. Even scared. Maybe.

The car horn blows again.

"I've gotta go," she says.

She runs through the dining room, grabs her bag, and shuts the door hard behind her.

I creep to the open window and listen through the screen.

"When I honk, you get your a.s.s out here!" a guy's voice yells. It sounds way older than someone in high school.

I listen for Leah's response, but I don't hear anything. The sting in my palm starts to throb as I try to peek out at them.

"Just get in!" the voice shouts. A door shuts. Tires squeal as the car tears out of our driveway.

I go back to the bathroom and finish fixing my hand. Back in my room, I try to stay awake until she gets home, but the next thing I know it's morning and Leah isn't here.

When my parents ask where she is, I tell them she left with someone last night, but I don't know who. I keep my hand in a fist and don't say anything about the knife. Christi shakes her head at me when my parents aren't watching, but she doesn't tell, either.

Mrs. Greene pretends not to be mad at all of us when she shows up at the house a few minutes later and finds out that Leah's gone. My parents keep apologizing, saying they were out late and didn't know Leah was missing until just now.

I don't know why Christi and I don't tell them about the knife. I don't think it occurs to either of us that Leah would really hurt herself. Not seriously, anyway.

We were so stupid. Of course it wasn't a joke. It was a warning.

Leah and I spend the next few weeks avoiding each other. The long Columbus Day weekend can't come soon enough. I spend the whole time in my room reading with Jack curled safely at my feet. Christi feels sorry enough for me to actually invite me to go shopping with her and her friends, but I pa.s.s.

I dread going back to school the following Tuesday, but it's a waste of time because Leah isn't there. She's gone.

As the weeks go by and she doesn't return, more and more rumors spread about where she went. The ones I've heard so far are: she dropped out to go to modeling school; she transferred to a fancy all-girls' finis.h.i.+ng school; her parents sent her to a girls' military school to straighten her out; she transferred schools because she's already slept with all the guys in this school; and she got pregnant.

I haven't spoken to Leah since the knife incident, so I have no idea what's true. And even though I'm selfishly relieved that she's gone, I worry. To feel better, I try to convince myself that if anything really bad happened, Mrs. Greene would tell my mom.

Some days, I still feel her watching me. Taunting me. Sometimes when a pretty girl walks by me, I can almost hear Leah's wet whisper in my ear, "Checking her out, Lainey? She's cute, isn't she?"

But Leah's not here anymore. It's just me, beating myself up.

After Leah's comments about soccer, I decided to prove her wrong by joining the team after all. I'm not afraid of the locker room. I'm not checking anyone out. Actually, I like getting ready in the locker room, listening to the gossip as we dress for practice, like I'm part of a group again, even if I'm outside the circle. It's not all that different from the group of fake friends I had with Leah.

"I heard our new uniforms will be in Friday," Jen Thomas says as she laces up her cleats before practice. She's talking to Carrie Winters. They're both juniors.

"I hope mine's the right size," Carrie says. "Remember how tight my top was last year? G.o.d, I didn't even need a sports bra. I swear Ms. Sawyer does it on purpose so she can check us out."

Ms. Sawyer is our coach. She's openly gay and has a partner, so I doubt she's interested in them.

Jen pushes out her flattish chest. "She's not checking me out, that's for sure. Unless she likes little boys."

"Maybe little girls," Carrie jokes.

I wish they'd shut up.

"This school is so whacked," says Jen. "I can't wait to get out of here."

"No s.h.i.+t. Speaking of getting out, have you heard about Leah Greene?"

My ears get hot.

"She moved, right? That's old news. And good news, if you ask me."

I try to pay attention to my cleats, but I'm sure my head is leaning way too close to them as I hang on every word.

"No, she didn't move. She's just not coming back here," Carrie says.

"Why not? Is she too good for us? G.o.d, she and her sister are so stuck-up."

I act busy stuffing things in my backpack so they don't think I'm listening.

"Actually, I heard that Leah tried to kill herself," Carrie says.

I drop my bag and look up. Jen stops brus.h.i.+ng her hair. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Carrie almost smiles, like she's proud to know this top-secret news.

I pick up my backpack again and put it on the bench. My hands are shaking.

"Maybe sleeping with every guy in the senior cla.s.s last year got to her conscience," Jen says, brus.h.i.+ng her hair again.

"Who knows. Why is it all the rich, beautiful girls who do c.r.a.p like that? I mean, she has everything going for her, so what does she do? She sleeps with every guy on the planet and then tries to off herself. She probably just did it for attention." Carrie stands up and looks at herself in the mirror. She tucks a few loose strands of hair back into her ponytail.

Jen rolls her eyes.

"I heard Leah transferred to private school over at Sheldon," says Carrie. "All the rich f.u.c.k-ups end up there."

"She's just like her s.l.u.tty sister, Brooke," Jen says. "They think they're so much better than everyone else."

I see Leah pressing the knife against her wrist and look down at the scar on my palm. I squeeze my hand shut again. I feel dizzy. I pull off my cleats and put my school clothes back on. No one seems to notice or care. I shove my practice clothes in my backpack and stand up. The cement floor feels like it's swaying underneath me. I wobble as I step forward. Carrie gives me a funny look.

I walk out of the locker room, out of the school parking lot, and away. n.o.body tries to stop me.

It's cold and windy outside. The sidewalks seem empty, even though they aren't. I walk looking down at the pavement in front of me.

The cold stings inside my ears and makes my head pound. I walk faster, finally ending up downtown, in front of the gla.s.s door of my parents' antique store.

I stand outside looking in. My father is talking to a customer. They can't see me out here in the dark.

I hold my hands in fists inside my jacket pockets. The air is cold and damp-feeling. But I can't go inside. I'm supposed to be at practice. I'm supposed to be happy Leah is gone and out of my life. But I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw her, pressing that knife to her wrist. Asking me if I would care. Telling me I pa.s.sed a test I didn't even know I was taking.

The woman shopper inside the store turns toward the door. I step aside quickly. The tiny customer-warning bell jingles as the door closes behind her. Her heels click steadily down the sidewalk as she walks away.

The store is quiet. I watch my father smooth his hand over a polished table. Then he walks to the back of the store, and I can't see him anymore. When he turns out the store light, I see my reflection in the gla.s.s. It startles and sickens me at the same time.

I turn around and lean against the cold store window.

Leah tried to kill herself.

Leah tried to die.

I try to remind myself of all the mean things she's done to me, but in the end it doesn't matter. With Leah, it never did. Even from the very beginning. No matter how much she hurt me, I always came back. All she had to do was reach for my hand and pull.

I feel what I think is an emptiness in my stomach. I turn back toward the store window again, but as I see my pale reflection and the darkness behind me, I realize that what I've really been feeling is loneliness.

I'm crying when my father puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Laine, honey. What are you doing here?"

It's the first time since I was really little that I've cried out loud. He puts his arms around me and squeezes me into his down parka. It smells like wood polish, and I cry on it. My hands are still shoved in my pockets, and with his arms around me, they're stuck there. So I just stand and let him hug me. I'm glad he doesn't ask what's wrong. He seems to understand somehow that I don't want him to. And, anyway, where on earth would I begin?

When I can't cry any more, we drive home. I can't eat, even though my mother tries to make me. My father gives her a look that tells her to leave me alone.

I go to bed and put the covers over my head. I think back to that night when Leah came over for the last time. How she looked at me and Christi as she held the knife to her wrist, like we were pathetic losers. How she laughed at us. For a second, I had wished she would just do it - plunge the knife in and get out of my life. But the feeling vanished when I heard the sound of the car horn and the stranger's angry voice and I watched Leah disappear into the night.

Before I know it, it's morning, and I have to go back to school and face all those girls who think they know Leah. Who hate her because they don't understand.

I spend the following day at school walking from cla.s.s to cla.s.s feeling numb and alone. I rub the scar on the inside of my palm, trying to remember the details of that night. Was Leah really warning us? Was that supposed to be her cry for help?

When I get home from school, I decide to call her.

Mrs. Greene answers the phone.

"What a surprise, Lainey!" she says in her high-pitched voice. "So good to hear your voice. We've missed you!"

While I wait for her to get Leah, panic slowly creeps into my chest. What do I say? I heard you tried to kill yourself, and I'm calling to find out if it's true?

"Hey, Laine," Leah says.

I'm surprised to feel glad to hear her voice.

"Hi," I say.

There's a long pause. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"What's up?" she finally asks. "Decide to miss me?"

"Um. Well. Of course I miss you," I lie.

"Of course?"

I should hang up.

"I was just calling to see - to see if you're OK."