Over the End Line (23 page)

"Annalisa?"

"It was her. I'm sure it was her."

Stephanie shook her head. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"I'm telling you, I saw her. Annalisa. Today."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Where?"

"On the rowboat," I said. "Sitting there."

"You saw Annalisa Gianni, my best friend, the most important person in my life. But you didn't see her at the library, did you? And you didn't see her in the back stairwell near the chemistry labs? And you didn't stand across the street from her house to catch a glimpse of her?"

I stepped back. "You knew?"

"Of course, Jonny," Stephanie said. "Now you're telling me she was here today."

"Yes."

"This afternoon."

"Yes."

"Sitting on the rowboat?"

"Goddamn it—yes. Have you talked to her? I haven't seen her since—" I stopped myself.

Stephanie walked up to me. She tugged on my jacket, lifted herself to my ear, and whispered. Her breath, like a feather, caressed my neck. "It wasn't Annalisa," she said, with a peculiar lilt in her voice. "The Giannis flew home to Arma di Taggia yesterday."

It was as if a hand had suddenly grabbed my throat and squeezed so hard I could hardly suck air into my lungs.

"Jonny-boy, what's the matter?" Stephanie said. "Something upsetting you?"

"I gotta go."

"Why?"

"You're messin' with my head."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You are."

"Don't go, Jonny-boy," Stephanie said. "Let's spend some more time together. This has been really fun."

I ran through the woods, then up Lake Road, trying to get away from Stephanie and South Pond as fast as my legs could take me. When I reached our front lawn, I hunched over, gasping for breath. I looked back down the street.

A girl stepped out from the shadows. I could see her silhouette. A skirt hung limply off her hips. She turned in my direction, then, just as quickly, vanished into the darkness.

Something hit my bedroom window.

A pebble.

Or a pine cone.

An empty Bic lighter, maybe.

I sat up in bed, my skin sweaty. A sour odor filled my nostrils. I pulled off my damp long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants and tossed them to the floor.

The clock read 5:17 a.m.

It was early. Way too early.

I should've stayed under the blankets—protected and safe. But I didn't. The air in my bedroom was cold, and when I got up, a chill climbed my spine. I shuffled across the floor and pushed aside the curtains.

Storm clouds filled the sky, peppering the glass with rain. Trees whipped back and forth, and, on our front lawn, fallen branches were scattered about. My skin puckered, and I shivered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw someone dart across Lake Road. I leaned closer to the window, my breath fogging the glass. With my arm, I wiped it clear. I wondered if I was still dreaming, but was sure I wasn't. Someone was out there. Waiting for me. I could feel it.

I grabbed my jeans and a pair of socks. I put on a sweatshirt, then a second, and tied my sneakers. I checked the hallway, then my mom's bedroom, and quietly moved down the stairs. I opened the front door and stepped outside.

Lightning flashed.

A few moments later, thunder cracked.

My eyes darted back and forth. The Saint-Claires' house was dark. So were the others on Lake Road. I jumped off the front portico, crossed the lawn, and hit the street at a sprint, my sneakers slapping the wet pavement. I passed the Short Hills Club entrance, then North and South ponds. They seemed to watch me, step for step, breath for breath.

Quickly, the ponds were behind me. On a long stretch of Lake Road, I ran hard, with a purpose—like I did on a soccer field. Up ahead, the steel trusses of Redemption Bridge broke through a low-lying fog. But as my sweatshirts and jeans became drenched from the downpour, my legs began to tire and my lungs ache.

I slowed to an awkward jog.

Then a clumsy walk.

When I made it to the bridge's roadway, I hunched over, nearly breathless. Lightning ripped the sky, followed by booming thunder. I looked around. No one was there. I had a sudden sickening feeling in my gut. Below me was where Kyle had died. I walked along the railing and stopped at the metal ladder that led from street level to a small repair platform under the bridge. The fence access barrier had been reinforced. Must've been done this past week, I figured. I looked down. The rusted ladder and its cement moorings had been replaced, too.

Through the sound of pounding rain, I heard someone say, "Good morning."

I turned and faced the opposite end of the bridge.

Out of the fog, a girl walked toward me, wearing a sweater, dirty and soaked, and a plaid skirt that looked vaguely familiar. Matted-down brown hair hid her face. She seemed no more bothered by the rain than if it had instead been the brightest, sunniest summer afternoon. Then she pulled her hair back.

"Stephanie?" I said.

She leaned over the railing. "It's a long way down."

"What're you doing here?" I said.

"I could ask you the same question."

I have no idea why," I said. "What's your excuse?"

"I like Monday mornings," Stephanie said, with a wink. "Monday mornings in the rain."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

She smiled. Wickedly, I thought. "You know."

"No, I don't."

"I think you do."

"Stephanie, what are you getting at?"

"Come on, Jonny-boy, think," she said. "What is it you really wanna ask me?"

"I have no idea."

"I think you do."

"Tell me."

"That's no fun," she said, a teasing inflection in her voice. "Oh, okay, I'll tell you. You wanna know where I was a week ago."

"A week ago?"

"Last Monday morning," she said. "Right around now."

"You were here?" I said. "With Kyle?"

"I had to set the world straight, Jonny-boy." She smoothed the skirt down her legs. "I snuck into Kyle's bedroom. I stood in the corner, watching him sleep. For hours and hours. It wasn't the first time. As I waited there I wished with every fiber of my body that he'd taste the fear and panic and hopelessness that Annalisa did. When it was dawn, when it was time, I woke him up. 'Annalisa's at the bridge!' I cried out. 'Something's wrong with her. She's gonna jump!' I sobbed. I quivered. It was quite a show."

"You tricked him," I said.

"Tricked?" Stephanie shrugged. "I suppose. Doesn't matter. Kyle thought he was going to rescue Annalisa; he was so desperate to redeem himself. He ran down one side of the bridge and leaned over the railing. I did, too—just to make it look good. 'Down there,' I said, pointing. Like a good follower, Kyle scaled the barrier and went down the ladder," she said, with a tone that was maddeningly cavalier. "It shimmied. The cement was crumbling, too. Near the bottom, Kyle's hand slipped. From the rain. He tried to catch another rung, but instead—oops—he fell." She gestured toward the platform below us. "Landed right there.

"Kyle looked up at me, so pathetically," she said. "He cried, 'I'm in trouble. Do you hear me? I thought you saw her down here? But there's no one.'"

I watched in bewilderment as Stephanie climbed up to the barrier. "Good thing the town had this fixed," she said. "Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

"Where're you going?" I said.

Stephanie tilted her head toward the stormy sky. "I kicked at the ladder ... and kicked ... and kicked," she said, showing how her shoe repeatedly slammed against the ladder's moorings. "A chunk of concrete broke off and hit Kyle." She giggled. "I don't think he was feeling so well after that."

"You
hurt
him?"

"Hurt? Kyle didn't know hurt. I know hurt!" Her body shuddered. "He took something away from me. Something beautiful. Something precious. Someone so vulnerable. 'I didn't mean to,' he said. 'I'm sorry.' Sorry? What good was sorry?"

"Stephanie," I said in the calmest voice I could manage.

But it was as if she didn't hear me. "Kyle showed me his hand," she said.

"Stephanie," I said, louder.

"He said it was broken—"

"Stephanie!"

She stopped, and looked at me.

"You woke me up this morning, didn't you?"

"Like I told you last night, Jonny-boy, we never spend any quality time together." Stephanie climbed back down from the barrier. "Now we are."

This was insanity. I didn't need to be out at this ungodly hour, in this shitty weather. I just wanted to be back home. In bed. Safe and warm. I'd witnessed enough tragedy for a lifetime. I'd seen things that shouldn't be seen.

I was done with Stephanie's games.

"I'm gonna go," I said. "And you need help."

"
I
need help?" She laughed. "I don't think so."

Someone walked up behind me.

I turned.

And Trinity grinned. Like Stephanie, she wore a plaid skirt and stained sweater. No black hair, no black makeup, no black pants or boots. Not a hint of goth.

I wheeled back toward Stephanie. "What the hell's going on?"

"Revenge is so very sweet, my dear Jonny-boy." She held up a pair of panties. "Recognize these?"

"No," I said.

"They're Annalisa's. Remember when she was spread out on the ground near the circle like a rag doll, while you hid and watched?"

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"Don't try that shit with me," Stephanie said. "I
saw
you there."

My throat tightened. "You saw me?" I choked out the words. "I didn't know it was her, God, I swear..."

"She tried to kill herself, you know," Stephanie said. "She's not the same. The Annalisa we knew is no more. Gone. Can't bring her back. So I made a promise that whoever was part of hurting her would rot in hell and never be able to forget what was done to my beautiful friend. So I ask you, Why didn't you stop them?"

"I tried to—"

"Liar!" Stephanie yelled.

"I wanted to."

"But you did nothing."

"I was wasted," I said.

"So?"

"I couldn't think straight."

"Or make a noise? Or get up? Or do any other goddamn thing?" Stephanie said. "Know what I think? I think you enjoyed watching. Bet you even got hard. Look at me. Look at me!" She pulled her fist back and swung through, connecting with my jaw.

Flash—

My knees buckled. I reached my hand out to the railing. It wobbled slightly.

"You're pitiful," Stephanie said.

I straightened up.

The two girls stepped closer.

I wiped my mouth and muttered, "Why didn't
you
do anything?"

"Oh, don't pass judgment on me," Stephanie said. "I was there too late, when it was over, when they walked away leaving her discarded in the dirt. I could only pick up the pieces." She reached her arms out like she was cradling a baby. "I covered Annalisa and held her. She didn't stop shivering. She was so cold, so exposed. Her body wasn't hers any longer; it was tainted. She whispered to me, '
Sono stanco ... Sono stanco...
' But you, Jonny-boy, you had a chance to stop what happened. Instead, you watched my brother make Annalisa bleed. And still, you never said a word."

"I was his friend," I said. "His friend. Do you understand that?"

"His friend," she said, dismissively. "All these years you kidded yourself, following him around school like a puppy dog, wishing you could have half his talent, half his looks, half of everything he had."

"We were
best
friends."

"Silly Jonny-boy, you didn't know Kyle. You didn't know what was going on in his head. You didn't know what he was capable of."

"I was only trying to—"

"What?" Stephanie snapped. "Protect him? From the consequences of what he did to Annalisa? He did it, that's all that mattered. Just like you watched it happen and did nothing—that's all that matters. You could've saved Kyle that night in the woods. You could've saved Maako. You could've saved Annalisa. But you didn't save any of them. Look at your hands."

I did.

"Her blood is on them," she said.

I hung my head. "Please let this end."

Stephanie shook her head. "What, and just forget everything?"

Kyle paid for what he did," I said, gesturing below us. "You sent him down there."

"Yes, and he trembled like a scared kitten," Stephanie said. "But there was nowhere to hide. He had to face me. He reached out his hand and stepped up a rung. I kicked at the cement. Again and again. He climbed a second rung. Then another. I gave the cement one last kick." She smiled. "Everything broke apart, and the ladder fell back. Kyle's hand and foot slipped off, and his body swung out wide, beyond the platform. He grabbed for a hold of something—anything..." Stephanie took a deep breath, seeming so pleased. "There was nothing but the wind."

"So that's how it ended?" I said quietly.

"Kyle needed to be taught a lesson," she said. "Now we'll teach
you
one."

I wiped the rain and tears from my eyes. "Annalisa isn't coming back; you said it yourself. It's over, Stephanie."

"Over?"

"Yes, over."

"It's not over."

"It's
been
over."

"No," she said. "Not yet."

I looked into Stephanie's deep, hollow eyes. She glanced at Trinity. Before I realized what was happening, both girls grabbed me by the collar of my sweatshirt, screamed like they were releasing the furies of hell, and slammed me against the railing.

But my body didn't stop. The railing gave way and I fell backwards, my arms and legs flailing wildly. In the chaotic explosion of my terrified mind, I had a final, singular moment of lucidity.

I heard Stephanie's voice.

"One more..." she said, a moment before my head—

SHORT HILLS—Little more than two weeks ago, Millburn Township celebrated its high school soccer team's victory in the Group III state title game. Today, the affluent Essex County community is reeling from the tragic news that a third member from that championship team has taken his life.