Lessons from a Dead Girl (18 page)

I don’t think it was the memorial Leah would have liked. I think she would have preferred a more dramatic funeral, like the ones on her mom’s soap operas. Sam would have been there, looking guilty. Maybe he would have stood dramatically and confessed to what he’d done to damage her all those years ago. And the boyfriend. He would have stood, too, and wept like a baby and said how sorry he was for hurting her. Maybe all the boys who used her would show up, crying and remorseful.

Brooke would be there, too, and Christi. They’d be properly sad and big-sisterish. And our parents would be sobbing down in the front row.

And where would I be, that plain, quiet girl Leah was always dragging along?

I’d be up at the front, where everyone could see me.

I would stand at the altar above Leah’s shiny coffin and deliver the eulogy. I would tell the truth about Leah Greene. I would say she was my troubled friend. I would admit that I let her down. I would explain that, in many ways, we let each other down. But I would say that I forgive her. And while I spoke, I’d feel her watching and listening, trying to decide if she forgives me, too.

Instead there was only a sad roadside altar of cheap stuffed animals and plastic flowers put there by people who didn’t really know Leah at all.

It’s different here, though. It’s only me. Jess and Web drive me here, but they wait in the parking lot. I know they don’t understand why I come here, but they are my friends, so they don’t ask why.

They never did. They just showed up after it happened, sat on my bed with me, and let me tell them the truth. All of it.

When I finished, Web looked at me and shook his head.

“That girl really messed you up,” he said.

Jess put her hand on mine. “But you have us now.”

“Yeah,” Web said. “And we’ll only mess you up in a good way!”

Jess elbowed Web, and then they both hugged me. I let them fold me into their warm arms before I pulled back.

“Thank you,” I said.

“We didn’t do anything,” Web said.

But they had. They passed the friendship test.

Now I sit and look at Leah’s name, perfectly and permanently etched into the polished black granite stone. When I move, I can make out the reflection of my shape, and I imagine it’s Leah looking back at me.

I don’t speak out loud. I don’t want to interrupt the sounds around us. The birds singing to one another, the wind softly swimming through the leaves above us. Instead, I talk to her inside my head. I tell her I think I understand why she did what she did. That in some strange way, I’m grateful for all the painful lessons because of what they taught me in the end. I tell her that even though I still don’t completely understand why she did all the things she did, I really do forgive her.

I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t see all the trouble she was in. I tell her I’m sorry I didn’t push her to tell me about Sam sooner or try harder to find out if the suicide rumors were true. I tell her I did care, but I was so caught up in being hurt and scared and hating her, I didn’t see her pain. And I ask her to forgive me back.

I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she’s nodding back at me.

But she’s not.

It’s me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can’t see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.

In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web’s car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn’t be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.

Thank you to all the people who’ve read this story at various stages and encouraged me to keep going. Thank you to Lowry Pei and Angelique Davi, my very first readers. Thank you to Cecil Castellucci for her friendship, love, and unconditional faith; to Holly Black for the call that made everything click; and to Sarah Aronson, Darlene LaCroix, and Cynthia Lord for their honest and valuable feedback. Thanks to my WWaWWa sisters, Cindy Faughnan and Debbi Michiko Florence, who read multiple revisions and never once dropped their virtual pompoms. To my agent, Barry Goldblatt, for believing in me when I didn’t, and to my editor, Joan Powers, who always started with the good stuff and asked all the right questions. Extra special thanks to my husband, Peter Carini, for everything. And finally, thank you to the PEN New England Children’s Book Caucus for selecting
Lessons from a Dead Girl
as the winner of their 2005 Discovery Award. I am forever grateful.

When Josh led Ellie from a party to the back of his van, neither could have known that Ellie would end up pregnant. Now a “one-time thing” is forcing both teenagers to deal with one of life’s biggest decisions and to discover the hard realities of leaving innocence behind.

www.candlewick.com

J
O
K
NOWLES
got hooked on writing for young adults after taking a course on children’s literature in college and went on to earn a master’s degree from the Center for the Study of Children’s Literature at Simmons College. She was the recipient of the 2005 PEN New England Children’s Book Discovery Award. Along with this book, she is also the author of
Jumping Off Swings
and
See You at Harry’s.

The inspiration for
Lessons from a Dead Girl
came from an article about kids abusing kids. “I began to wonder what makes childhood friendships so complex, so painful at times, and yet so binding,” she says. Jo Knowles lives in Vermont with her husband and son.