Are You Still There Read online

  I inch the door open, craning for a better look.

  The door creaks. Her head snaps toward me. “Hey.” She seems surprised and quickly moves the mouse to close out of whatever she was doing. Her hair is sticking up in all directions, and she’s wearing the nighttime retainer that makes her slur. “You can’t sleep either?”

  “Nah,” I lie.

  “Wanna have a party?” When we were little and got scared at night, we’d sleep over in each other’s rooms and call it a “party.”

  “Sure,” I say slowly, thinking that it’s been at least four years since we’ve done this. “My place or yours?”

  “Yours.” She’s moving the mouse around again, shutting the computer down completely. “I don’t want you sleeping on the floor in your old age.”

  “Very funny.”

  Five minutes later, I’m in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin. I can hear Chloe shifting around on the carpet beside me. We’ve laid out comforters and pillows, and basically done everything but move her mattress over here. Chloe’s breathing evens quickly. I try to match mine to hers. Try to take myself back to a time when nighttime sleepovers were the norm and my sister and I shared all our secrets.

  When life was simple.

  It feels so long ago.

  Stranger’s Manifesto

  Entry 7

  I found her, you know.

  Jo.

  Hanging like a puppet from the tree.

  Swinging in the wind.

  Eyes bulging and pointed right at me.

  Accusing me.

  Like somehow I could have stopped her.

  Like somehow I should have stopped her.

  I hate that

  Shoulda-woulda-coulda feeling.

  It weighs down my chest

  Like an avalanche of dictionaries.

  But now, I’m in charge

  And things will be different.

  This time I’ll deal the cards

  In my favor.

  11

  EARLY NOVEMBER

  “This is harder than it looks,” I complain. I’m sitting cross-legged on the futon, holding a tiny purple bead between two fingers and trying to thread wire through the microscopic hole. Janae searches through the pile of beads in the center of the futon.

  “You want some help?” Miguel asks from my left.

  Miguel and I were somehow paired together when Paisley made the executive decision that all helpline shifts would be run in coed teams. To “remedy safety concerns.”

  Janae raised her hand in the meeting to say that bombs and bullets were equal opportunity killers. Walking out with a guy didn’t necessarily increase her safety. But Janae’s not complaining because she got paired with Garth. I made Janae promise to come with me for my shifts so I wouldn’t have to be alone with Miguel. I told her I’d pay her back and come to her shifts too.

  “Go for it.” I say, holding out the jewelry. Miguel takes it from me, his fingers brushing against mine. His skin feels hot, and the tips of his fingers are rough to the touch, but not in a bad way.

  Miguel grins, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. “I’ve rethreaded my mother’s sewing needles a hundred times.” I watch as he licks his finger and then slips the wire through the small hole.

  Riiiiiing. We all jump. We’ve got to stop being so jumpy about getting phone calls. That is, after all, the whole reason we are here. Riiiiiing.

  “I’ll take it,” I say.

  I sit in the chair, take a deep breath, and pick up the phone. “Helpline, this is Vanessa.”

  “Oh, hi.” The voice sounds surprised, like maybe she didn’t expect anyone would answer.

  “Hi,” I tell her. “What’s going on tonight?”

  “Uh …” Her voice is shaky. “It’s nothing really.”

  “I’m here to listen,” I remind her.

  “Okay, it’s just that I moved here midyear, and no one at this school has ever heard of being friendly!”

  I am momentarily offended. Of course we’re friendly. I write on my paper: Lonely. New to school. People unfriendly.

  Janae scribbles, How does that make you feel?

  I hate these pat answers and questions. They feel so forced. But I can’t think of anything else to say. “So you’re new to school.” This sounds even more ridiculous, but luckily the girl doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Yeah. I hate it here. I’ve been eating my lunch in a bathroom stall, because there’s no place to sit. No one seems to want to get to know someone new.”

  Miguel writes on the paper, Get involved in a club? Or a sport?

  I’ll have to remind him later that we’re not supposed to give advice. “Are there any groups you’d really like to hang out with?”

  “At my old school I hung with the theater kids.”

  “We have a drama program here too,” I point out. “The drama teacher lets people eat their lunches in her room if she’s in there.”

  “Really?” I hear the slight lift in her voice. “But I’m not in drama. And I haven’t auditioned for any plays.”

  “As far as I know, there’s no rule that says you have to. As long as you clean up your own trash, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

  I’m not sure if I just gave advice, but whatever I did, it worked. The girl chatters for a few more minutes, saying she has nothing to lose so she might as well give it a shot. Anything beats eating lunch in the bathroom. And my friends each give me a pat on the back. Mission complete.

  At five minutes to closing, Ping! A text comes in. The words glow on the computer screen. Are you still there?

  Miguel types, I’m here.

  “Anyone in a hurry tonight?” I ask. “Let’s just stay here another twenty minutes and see if this person texts back.”

  Everybody’s game, so we kick back and wait. It takes ten minutes. Then Ping!

  I can’t fall asleep. I can never fall asleep.

  That must be really frustrating.

  You’re still there? I thought you guys got off at nine.

  We do. But if you know that, why do you text after we’re closed?

  I don’t know. Then a few seconds later. Because I can’t fall asleep. I just keep thinking and thinking, and it makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

  Are you stuck on a thought tonight?

  It’s embarrassing.

  No worries. This is anonymous.

  I keep having nightmares about that lockdown. I wake up all sweaty and panicky. Thinking about it makes it hard to fall asleep.

  That sounds awful.

  Seems ridiculous that it’s still bothering me.

  I bet you’d find other people are still reacting from the lockdown too. Have you talked to any of your friends?

  Well, that’s the other thing. I’m losing my best friend.

  Tell me more.

  She’s just moving on. That happens, I know. But it sucks.

  Agreed. Have you talked to her about it?

  No. But what’s she gonna say? She’s too nice to hurt my feelings. I can just tell she’s moving on. Too bad this thing is anonymous. I’d like to link bathroom-lunch-eating girl with losing-my-best-friend girl.

  That must make you sad.

  Yeah. Then a few seconds later, I’ll let you go. Thanks for staying late for me.

  Sure.

  12

  The next morning in homeroom, Garth stops at my desk before the bell rings. I stare at his Nikes for ten seconds before I register that he’s there to talk to me. His feet are the size of tennis rackets. “Got a question for you.”

  “It better not be about the physics exam, because I know nothing!” I feel like crap—I’m wearing sweats and a baseball cap to hide my unwashed hair. “I tried to cram last night when I got home, but it was too late and I couldn’t concentrate for anything.”

  “Physics is a nightmare,” Garth agrees. “But that’s not—”

  “I’m gonna fail.” I cut him off. “My parents are gonna kill me!” My voice is shrill. I’ve never bee
n this unprepared for a test.

  I must sound panicked, because some scrawny kid I don’t even know says, “I got a cram sheet if you want to see it.” He’s wearing a heavy jacket, so big that it could practically swallow him up.

  “For physics,” he asserts again, shifting his camera strap. Those yearbook kids wear cameras like accessories. “You can use my cram sheet.” He pulls some crumpled papers out of his backpack.

  “Thank you,” and then I pause. I can’t remember if his name is Simon or Samuel, which is embarrassing because I’ve had science classes with him since sophomore year. I take the papers from him. Looks like a worksheet of some kind.

  “No prob.” He smiles and moves on.

  “And who says people aren’t nice these days?” I scan the page, realizing how little I know about today’s test and how royally screwed I am.

  “Gabi—” Garth pauses like he’s uncomfortable. “You think Janae has a boyfriend?”

  “Where did that come from?” I look up from the cram sheet, surprised. “And why do you care?”

  “Will you ask her?” Garth’s cheeks turn pink.

  “Depends. What do I get in return?” I just might have fun with this.

  “How middle school!” Janae complains, trying to hide a smile with her hand. “He can’t ask me himself?”

  I turn to my locker and twist the knob. “Maybe he’s just shy.”

  “Shy, my ass. How ’bout coward-ish?”

  “That’s not even a word,” I tell her.

  “So? You know what I mean, so it works.” Janae readjusts her Dickies skinny pants. I can see her belly button ring. “You know we’re gonna have to pay him back for being such a loser.”

  “No. No. No! I don’t know that.” I shake my head to make my point. “I’m not getting anyone back. I’ve already committed one crime for the day, and that’s enough for me.”

  “Wait. Crime? You committed a crime?” The corners of Janae’s mouth twitch, like she’s thinking something funny. “You mean something other than having the world’s messiest locker?”

  I make a face. My locker is messy, sure, but there’s no need to be mean about it. I sigh. “I cheated on a physics test.”

  “So?”

  “So I’ve never cheated on a test in my life.”

  “Oh, boohoo.” Janae wipes fake tears from her eyes and gets all dramatic now, holding her hand to her face. “So now your moral code has gone to shit like the rest of us.”

  I ignore this. “It’s so weird. This kid I hardly know gives me a study sheet. But that sheet was the test. Same formatting and everything. How he got a copy of the test I don’t know, and I don’t really want to know.”

  “You’re a trip.” Janae slings her arm around my shoulder. “Where have you been? Everyone knows Cooper reuses tests. Probably half the kids in your class crammed with the same info you did. Anyone who has an older brother or sister who’s taken the class, or a neighbor or a friend … There are probably thirty copies of that test floating around campus. So give yourself a break, why don’t you, before you have an aneurysm.”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?” I ask, but honestly, I’m relieved. If I go down for cheating, so will half the senior class.

  “This is good for you, Gabs. You got to loosen up.” And then she gets this gleam in her eye. “Get comfortable with being less than perfect, Gabi, because you are about to be a part of something totally sneaky and fantastic. A prank war.”

  Janae works fast. By the following day at lunchtime, we’re cramming ninety-seven dollar-menu hamburgers into Garth’s locker. We could have fit at least twenty more if we’d smushed them together and hadn’t run out of money. Janae texted as many people as she could, asking them if they’d pitch in a buck for a dollar-menu cafeteria burger and a good laugh.

  Janae and I lean against the lockers across the hall from Garth’s, just waiting and watching for him to come along. I’d begged Garth’s best friend to tell us his locker combo. It took him about ten seconds to give up the combination once I explained the prank war.

  Word has spread and now this hallway is way crowded. I see Garth ambling down the hallway, all big and bulky with hands like bear paws. Janae hugs me. “Are you ready?”

  I am. I’ve already got my phone out. My job is to capture the moment with video so that we can post it online.

  If Garth notices anything strange, he doesn’t show it. He walks with his whole body, like he can’t just move his feet, and it takes his shoulders to move him down the hall.

  When Garth twists the knob on his locker, I’ve got the phone out and pointed at him. It all happens in slow motion. The burgers are so crammed in there that as the door pulls back and away, they tumble forward and out. He steps back instinctively, and I move at an angle so I can catch his expression. Kind of a what-in-the-hell, do-I-have-the-wrong-locker look.

  I’m standing in his line of vision though, and I can see him taking in the cell phone camera. He scans the room in slow motion. People start to clap slowly, but it builds up. Garth calls out, “I hope these are veggie burgers!”

  Stranger’s Manifesto

  Entry 8

  You think best friends know everything about each other.

  You think I should have known what she was going to do.

  You think she would’ve told me.

  She did.

  She did tell me.

  But she’d been saying shit like that for years.

  Years.

  Talking death. Emo crap. Black eyeliner.

  The whole bit.

  Playing her game.

  What’s the best way to die?

  Being slammed on the train tracks?

  Instantaneous.

  But they’d find pieces of you for miles.

  And what would your parents bury?

  Slitting an artery?

  Slower.

  Pain not so bad.

  But messy as hell.

  And who cleans that up?

  Gun in the mouth.

  Quick.

  Effective.

  Also messy.

  And where does a tenth grader get a gun?

  Pills.

  Easy to get. Easy to take.

  But if nobody finds you, you choke on your own vomit.

  Kind of repulsive.

  She never mentioned hanging.

  Never.

  And she never said this was more than a game.

  Never.

  But I should have known.

  A better friend would have known.

  That’s my daily ride on the guilt train.

  My mind circles the track

  Over and over

  The chugga-chugging

  Sounding a whole helluva lot like

  Shoulda-woulda, shoulda-woulda.

  I can never get off that train.

  It’s the worst when I’m in bed

  And the silence of the house is suffocating.

  The only way I can distract my brain

  Is to plan

  My next move.

  There’s one thing I’ve learned from Jo—

  That sometimes someone has to die

  To make a point.

  13

  Our library is always freezing. I don’t complain though. It keeps me awake.

  “You ready for the test in government?” Eric stacks his notes neatly on the library table.

  I look up. “No. That’d be why I’m cramming during lunch.” I’m trying to refocus on my schoolwork. Kick senioritis to the curb. Beth’s sampling a new lunchtime club.

  “Want help?”

  “Unless you can magically beam the answers into my brain, I doubt any kind of help can rescue me now. I’m just bracing myself for the parental lecture I’m gonna get when I bring home a B. All about getting my priorities straight and yada, yada.” I rub my arms because the goose bumps are having a field day.

  “The problem is that you’ve spoiled them by bringing home all A’s. Now they expect it.”


  I grin. “Maybe.”

  “If you started out with C’s, they’d be thrilled with B’s.”

  “Good point. Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.” I look back at my book. I have so much left to read. I don’t want to be rude, but I want him to leave. I really do need to cram. “I don’t think you’re a good example though. You’re in the running for valedictorian, aren’t you?”

  Eric shrugs like it’s no big deal. He drags back a chair, scraping it on the ground, and sits himself down. He pulls my textbook away from me and I’m about to protest, but I see the librarian shooting us the evil eye from across the room. We are too loud.

  “Here,” he says, turning the pages. “Focus on this section. If you have this part down, you’ll do fine.”

  “Okay. I guess I can’t get through it all anyway.” I move the book back in front of me. He stays in his seat, watching me. “Not to be rude, but I can’t concentrate with you sitting there.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the hint.” He stands up. “You’ll do fine.”

  I read the section twice, and skim the headings and bolded words in the rest of the chapter. I hope Eric is right. The warning bell rings and I suddenly feel the warmth of a body next to mine. I almost laugh out loud. Has Eric been waiting for me all lunch?

  But when I look up, I don’t see Eric. I see Miguel. He’s holding a single rose.

  My skin prickles in an oh-my-god-is-this-really-happening kind of way. I have never been given a rose by a boy in my life.

  It feels so completely cheesy that I can hardly take it from him.

  But I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and he looks so vulnerable standing there holding it. So I reach my hand out and take it. I murmur something that vaguely resembles a “thank you.” It’s so awkward I can hardly meet his eyes, so I scramble to pack up my books and jam out of there. Halfway to my locker, I prick my finger on a thorn. I spend half the government test sucking on the finger so it won’t bleed all over my paper.

  Chloe has perfected the art of parental manipulation. The girl should win an award. She has a whole strategy.