Dead Girl Walking (24 page)

By the afternoon, I’d finished my workouts and spent a few hours watching soaps with Luis. He filled me in on the plotlines while I munched on his delicious homemade cheesy popcorn. When Angie came by, she shot us a disgusted look. But all she asked was if I’d done my exercises and homework. Wow—she was acting almost friendly.

When the soaps ended, Luis went outside for gardening chores and I returned to my room. I tried to figure out Leah’s password to her computer, but couldn’t. If I could read through her emails it would help to know her better, save me from any embarrassing mistakes.

Once school was over, my phone started ringing—Jessica, Chad, Kat and Eli. I let the machine pick up for the first three, but when I saw Eli’s name on the caller ID, I couldn’t grab the phone fast enough. We talked, nothing serious, just casual stuff that seemed more interesting when shared with Eli. I had to admit, even to myself, that I was falling for him. How could Leah have preferred Chad?

After I hung up, I sat on Leah’s bed and thought about my day. Strange, surreal, almost enjoyable. I was starting to feel comfortable in this skin. When I stared at myself in the mirror, I wasn’t only looking at Leah or at Amber, but at a blend of the two of us.

AmberLeah.

A knock on my door startled me out of my thoughts.

“Leah, are you busy?” Mr. Montgomery asked as he opened my door.

“Uh … not really,” I said, sitting up straight and clasping a small pillow on my lap. “What do you want?”

He draped his arm on my computer chair. “I just had an enlightening talk with your friend.”

My heart skipped a few beats. “Who?”

“Jessica Bradley. She said that you seemed to be avoiding her calls today,” he added, with a disapproving glance at the phone on my desk.

“I’ve been busy doing homework,” I lied.

“Is it done?”

I nodded.

“Excellent,” he said with a nod. “I’m pleased by how well you’ve recovered. So pleased that I’m returning these.”

A set of keys dangled from his fingers.

“My car keys!” I rejoiced, taking the keys. I could almost smell my freedom, and couldn’t wait to tell Eli and Dustin I had wheels to go wherever I wanted.

“You deserve them,” he told me. “Jessica told me how you helped come up with the fundraiser plans, so I figured you’d need your car. You aren’t expected back in classes till Monday, but there’s no reason you can’t help Jessica.”

“Help Jessica do what?” The sharp end of a key stabbed my palm.

“I’ll make an exception for such a worthwhile endeavor. I told Jessica you could go, and that I’d be happy to donate cases of canned food.” Smiling, he gave my braid a light tug. “Have fun—at the fundraiser.”

The auditorium displayed a huge blow-up of my (hideous!) junior year picture on a pedestal surrounded by boxes of canned food. What a send-off! I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. No one but me saw the irony in memorializing a foodaholic with a canned-food drive.

Even more ironic—the dead girl was present.

Dustin and Eli had both tried to talk me out of attending, afraid I’d break down. But Mr. Montgomery’s direct order could not be ignored. So I arrived early to set up, carrying boxes and bags of canned food.

Every time I walked up near the stage, I cringed at the life-size picture of my own face. My hair was frizzed on one side, my eyes were squinting because the photographer’s lights were too bright, and a pimple poked out on my chin. Could Jessica have found a worse picture of me? Doubtful.

Kat was also pitching in to help, carrying canned food with a cheerful attitude. I found nothing to be cheerful about, and kept busy to avoid talking to anyone.

The memorial was scheduled for four o’clock.

At ten to four, there were still only three of us present.

I knew it
, I thought, both angry and relieved.
No one is coming
.

But then the door opened. Dustin and Eli stepped in.

Dustin held a box loaded with canned food. Eli carried just one can—but it was the largest can I’d ever seen. He’d put a bow on the top like it was a birthday gift. Then he came over to me.

“Here’s my donation.” He had a twinkle in his eyes.

“Couldn’t you find anything bigger?” I joked.

“I’ll try next time you have a memorial service,” he joked. He handed me the giant can of chocolate syrup.

My arms strained to hold it. As I carried it over to one of the growing pile of canned goods (quite a few donated by Mr. Montgomery), there was a rumble of voices. I looked over my shoulder and saw dozens of my classmates, and some teachers, filing into the room. Principal Kimbrough was even there, taking a seat in the front row.

I watched in a daze as row after row was filled—everyone donating at least one can before sitting down.

They can’t all be here for me
, I told myself.

But then Aunt Suzanne and Cousin Zeke arrived, and spoke to Dustin. Dustin caught my gaze and winked.

This was insane. I never expected any of my family to show up. I also didn’t expect the next person who walked through the door.

Alyce.

I stared, shocked, sure I was hallucinating. But it was Alyce all right, dressed in her usual black: a pleated skirt and a sheer, long-sleeved blouse over a black shirt. Her hair was twisted in a bun with bone-like sticks holding it together, and her powdered pale face looked gaunt with smudged black eye makeup. She took a seat in a back row.

“Come on, Leah,” Jessica whispered, grabbing my arm. “It’s about ready to start.”

I went with her, still trying to see Alyce—only the room was so crowded I couldn’t see her anymore. When Jessica waved me over, I gave up looking and sat beside her in the front row, next to Principal Kimbrough.

“I’ve never spoken at a memorial before—wish me luck!” Jessica swept up to the podium and thanked everyone for their donations, then added that the Principal would like to say a few words.

Did Principal Kimbrough even know my name?

“Thank you all for coming,” he said in a deep voice that echoed through the mike. “When I told Jessica she could have the auditorium today for a fundraiser, I expected the usual raffle or a game of bingo. But she far exceeded my expectations by using this opportunity to remember a student we all loved and respected.”

Loved and respected?

He had to be talking about someone else. But then he said my name and spoke about my work on the Halsey Hospitality Club. “Amber Borden and the other members of the HHC have made this school a welcoming place for students. Some people move through life without thinking of others, but Amber wasn’t like that. She shone a light of friendship and welcome to new students. And she will be sorely missed.” His voice thickened with emotion. “Now, I believe Jessica Bradley has something to say.”

Jessica took the podium and started off by thanking everyone for coming. “Your donation of canned goods will help feed needy people. This canned-food drive was Amber’s idea.”

It was? Not even close.

“I spoke with her only hours before her tragic accident, and she was excited about working on our committee to help less fortunate people. Her caring efforts brought us all here today. I only hope I can live up to her generous example.” Jessica then invited anyone else who wanted to say something about Amber to come up to the podium.

In the front row, I kept shaking my head in disbelief. None of this was about me. That couldn’t be happening. I mean, I’d never done anything special. I was just ordinary.

“When I transferred to this school,” Betina Cortez began, “I was still recovering from a kidney operation and didn’t have the energy to make friends. But on my very first day, Amber Borden welcomed me to Halsey High with the most beautiful basket I’d ever seen. I loved the gifts inside, but mostly I loved Amber for being kind to a new girl. I didn’t get to know her well after that—she already had two best friends—but I never forgot her kindness … and I’m so sorry she’s gone.”

Wiping her eyes, Betina left the stage.

Next at the podium was Trinidad. The tiny diamond in her nose sparkled in the bright ceiling lights. She was small, but she carried herself with style and an awareness of the audience. So much diva potential, if she only knew it.

“Amber welcomed me, too, with a great basket. Then she offered to give me a ride, just because she was so nice.” Trinidad wiped her eyes. “I think what I admired most was the way she listened and really cared. She made me feel like I could do amazing things. But really, she was the one who was amazing. I didn’t know her well, but I miss her and all the special things that won’t happen without her around.”

There was a moment of silence as Trinidad left the stage. Then my cousin Zeke came up. He still had that goofy wave of red hair falling over his eyes, and teeth so big he looked like he was smiling even when he wasn’t. And he wasn’t now. I could tell he’d been crying, because his eyes were almost as red as his hair.

“Amber was my cousin, and she was a lot of fun,” he said, choking up as he went on to tell about how we’d ruined his sister’s wedding cake.

When he was done, I glanced back a few rows to my Aunt Suzanne. Through her tears, she was laughing at Zeke’s story. Laughing? When did she get a sense of humor? And her tears were real—as if she truly missed me.

More people came up to share thoughts and memories. My trig teacher praised my math skills and promptness in turning in homework. My chemistry teacher told the humiliating story about my putting a combustible chemical tube on a heated Bunsen burner. He showed the burnt corner of his eyebrow that had never grown back after that small fire. He chuckled sadly and said how much he’d missed my “fiery personality.” Then my gym teacher said I was a great example—of someone with no athletic aptitude who kept trying anyway.

I listened as if disconnected from reality. All these wonderful, sweet, funny, heartbreaking stories were about me. I began to feel sad, too, about my being dead—until I remembered that this memorial should be for Leah. She was the one gone forever. What would people have said about her? She was popular. She was pretty. She had a hot boyfriend. But did anyone know what she was really like? She played different roles and drifted in her popularity. It was Jessica who seemed to be the real force behind Leah’s image.

Then Kat and Moniqua went to the podium together and recited a prepared speech that rang totally false to me. They acted liked we’d been best friends. Not one word about dissing me and calling the HHC members “Basket Cases.” But did it really matter?

No—and I continued to be awed by my many genuine friends.

Margrét came hesitantly to the podium, speaking softly with a lyrical Icelandic accent. She was slim and fragile and it seemed like a loud voice could knock her over. She held a small stuffed toy bird—the puffin from her welcome basket.

“Amber was so sweet to me, so friendly when I knew nothing about your school and little about America,” Margrét said. “I lost this puffin for a while but Amber found it and returned it to me. So small a thing—but it was big to my heart. Amber shared her big heart and asked for nothing in return. In her honor, I’m going to join the Halsey Hospitality Club and welcome new students like she did.”

Applause fluttered across the room like wings of an idea taking flight. This idea spread as more people stepped forward to talk about the gift baskets they’d received. Over a dozen students volunteered to join the HHC.

Always quick to action, Dustin stepped up with a notebook to take names of the new club members. I looked around for Alyce, to see if she was excited by all the new members. But I couldn’t see her. I’d been hoping she’d come to the podium to say something—I mean, she was the closest person to me in the entire auditorium.

But she never spoke up.

Dustin said a few words—mostly about how I started HHC and worked hard to keep it going. He credited Alyce with the creative design of the baskets, but even then Alyce didn’t come forward. Maybe she’d left already.

Three more classmates (all recipients of HHC baskets) came up and said nice things about me—how getting a welcome basket gave them confidence in a new school. They all said they liked how I smiled and waved whenever we passed in the hall.

I’d made people feel good simply by being friendly and smiling?

But that was so easy.

Then Jessica took the podium again, thanking everyone for coming and especially for their generous contributions of canned food. “Your donations will brighten the lives of many people—like Amber brightened yours. And I’m sure that wherever Amber is, she’s watching us right now … smiling.”

Yes she is, I thought.

Chairs scraped the floor and voices rose as people filed out of the room. Some stayed to pay respects by lining up to view a “memorial box” that my Aunt Suzanne had brought from my family.

“Amber’s parents couldn’t come—they’re at the hospital dealing with sad things,” I heard her tell Jessica.

“The hospital?” Jessica asked. “I thought Amber passed … um … a few days ago.”

My aunt seemed to hesitate. “At the last minute, my sister insisted that Amber moved her hand, so the doctors postponed everything. But it was only false hope. Everything should be over now.” She sighed. “Amber’s parents appreciate this lovely tribute, so they sent along a few mementos of Amber.”

The box was the size of a shoe box and wrapped in silver foil with my name glitter-glued on the front. What had my parents sent? Curious, I joined everyone else in line. I managed to be the last one, so I could look without anyone watching over my shoulder.

When I reached the box, emotions swelled in my throat. Inside the box were pictures of me as a baby, toddler, and a few recent ones that looked much better than my awful junior year picture. In one photo I was hamming for the camera at my thirteenth birthday party, posed between Dustin and Alyce, our arms around each other. But instead of a smile, there was an uncomfortable look on my face. My stomach had ached because I’d just eaten one-sixth of my double fudge strawberry cream birthday cake.

Now my stomach ached for sad reasons. I missed me so much.