11

THREE DAYS AFTER MY DEATH, school seems exactly the same as it was last week. I don’t know what I expected, but morning announcements and Mr. Clarkson passing back homework isn’t it. No one’s crying or asking for a pass to the counselor’s office or even wearing black. Bridgette said everyone missed me so much. Sitting in my assigned seat next to Madison in third-hour Trig, I can’t tell.

Mr. Clarkson pauses at Madison’s desk and lets her know she has until Friday to hand in the weekend problem set that was due yesterday. Somebody mentions my funeral is on Friday and he adjusts the turn-in date to Monday. He glances at my desk, then continues up the aisle.

Madison slips her cell out of her vest pocket and texts under her desk. I lean over to read: 3rd hr w/o her is brutal! Cnt stay here!

A response from Aimée silently pops up: U have to bump into him after class. Just 15 more mins.

Madison’s fingers tighten around her cell as she types: OK.

“Who are you supposed to bump into?” I ask her.

While her phone is out she checks her missed-calls log. I don’t expect to see any since she always answers her cell on the first ring, but there are several from Drew, which isn’t that surprising if they’re in one of their off-again bouts, and one from a number I don’t recognize. She stashes her cell deep in her gold purse, then pulls out the blue folder that we share for Math. Madison and I have inexplicably shared a math class every year of our academic lives together. In sixth grade she suggested we alternate weeks of homework because “you don’t look fate in the mouth when it smiles at you.” She even changed her handwriting so it matched my wide looping cursive. Last week was my turn to do the problem sets. I wish I had a way to tell her they’re sitting on the top shelf in my locker.

Madison has started working on the first problem when Kelsey Flink one seat back passes her a piece of notebook paper. It’s the problem set with a red check mark in the top corner. Madison turns around and gives Kelsey an expectant stare. Kelsey points to a seat one row over. Ethan’s best friend, Mica Torrez, flashes Madison one of his million-dollar smiles and holds out his hand in a you’re welcome gesture. Madison half smiles and quickly turns back around. She’s still going to have to do the work. Everyone knows Mica gets jock-exception grades.

She spends the rest of class folding his assignment into halves until it’s so small it fits into that minipocket on the front of a pair of jeans that’s good for pretty much nothing. With one finger, she slides the paper into her pocket, making it disappear.

After the bell rings, Mica catches up to Madison in the hall. “Thought you could use a break on the assignment. I got full credit, so you should be good with copying my work.”

Madison yanks the straps of her backpack tight down over her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Have you heard from E at all?”

Madison’s cheeks drain of their usual rosy tint. “Ethan doesn’t really call me. Why?”

“I called him a bunch of times, but he didn’t pick up.” His expression turns reproachful, and he rubs his forehead. “I was wondering if he was avoiding everyone or if it was only me.”

Madison sharpens her gaze on Mica for a brief moment, then seamlessly shifts back into friendly conversation. “I’m sure he’s only laying low for a while. I guess I wouldn’t want to talk to anyone if I were him.”

“You kinda are. You and Cassidy were inseparable. Why’d you come back to school so soon?” He searches her ashen face. It’s like his eyes are staring right through her to me.

“Madison?” a girl with a high blond ponytail yells from across the crowded hall.

Madison brushes her long bangs across her forehead, hiding her eyes, and pretends not to hear the girl. “Gotta go,” she tells Mica in a rush. When she turns to leave, she bumps into the girl.

“Madison.” The girl pauses to take a breath. She looks strangely familiar. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Madison pinches her cheeks to call back some color and turns with her best fake smile plastered on. She nods at Mica. “We were talking.”

“Carly, hey.” Mica gives the girl a nod, and she blushes like she’s been hit on by him before and fallen hard. One of many. I’m surprised he hasn’t given her a wink or one of his other playboy trademarks.

Wait. Carly? I look back at the girl, studying her face, remembering her waterfall ponytail. She was at the party with another girl I didn’t know. They were the ones I overheard talking about Ethan and me breaking up.

“What do you want?” Madison asks, still fake smiling.

Carly reluctantly pulls her eyes away from Mica’s face. “Oh, I just feel so bad about what happened at the party. I hope you know I—”

Madison cuts her off. “Thanks for letting me know you feel bad.”

“I do. Don’t you?”

“Everyone feels bad about what happened to Cassidy,” Madison retorts.

I glower at Carly. “But not everyone is strapped with the guilt of spreading rumors about me right before I died,” I say, even though I know she can’t hear me.

Madison continues. “And I could do without the constant reminders from people I don’t even know who feel so bad.” She makes finger quotes around the last two words.

“But—” Carly’s eyes dart between Madison and Mica, then to the floor. “Got it,” Carly says, sounding ashamed. “I better get to class.”

As soon as she’s gone, Mica says, “Bet you’re in for a whole day of that.”

“I expected worse.” Madison groans. I offer her a sympathetic smile.

“Then why’d you come back?” he asks a second time.

Madison mutters, “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Maddy?” Drew steps up between Mica and me.

“Madison,” I correct him automatically. Every guy we know—except Ethan—inexplicably calls Madison Maddy and she hates it. Not that she’d ever risk upsetting prospective suitors by telling them.

Drew lobs his arm around Madison’s shoulder and leans in to kiss her. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back to school today. I would have given you a ride.” Inside his khaki-pants pocket, he jingles the keys to his vintage BMW. The silver coupe is about as old as my dad, but Drew takes care of it like it’s a priceless antique. He shows it off constantly.

“That’s sweet,” she says in the same cheery, detached voice she always puts on for him. He smiles like he doesn’t notice how much more excited he is to see her than she is to see him. This is a rehearsed dance between them and they both execute the steps flawlessly. Madison trips up at the end though. She shrugs away from Drew.

“I called you last night,” Drew says to Madison, still taking hold of her hand, adding with a sad laugh, “and a few times on Sunday.”

She presses her fingertips to her closed eyes, feigning tiredness for the reason she freed her hand from his. “I haven’t been sleeping very well. I lay awake wondering what Cassidy was thinking about right before she…” When Mica clears his throat, Madison looks up with a start. She fluffs her bangs down over her eyes like she’s hiding from her own thoughts. “Anyway, I took some NyQuil to try to get some sleep. I must have slept through your calls. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven as long as I’m invited over tonight,” Drew tells her with a suggestive grin. When he leans in for another kiss, she gently pushes him away, but she does it with a smile so his ego doesn’t get bruised.

She checks the clock on her phone. “I’m going to be late to class.”

“See you tonight?” Drew asks.

Madison gives him a noncommittal nod. She looks at Mica before leaving. “Thanks again.”

For a second, Drew watches her walk down the hall, his shoulders tensed, then turns to Mica. “What was she thanking you for?”

“Chill, man. I just gave her some homework to copy.”

“Good,” Drew says quietly. He pushes his longish curls back off his face. “She left awfully quick though, right? You noticed that too?” Mica starts to reply, but Drew rambles on. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I was only trying to take her mind off things.”

“That’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

Drew nods twice, real quick. “You’re right. I should give her some space. I mean, she probably needs a few days to get over everything. I should’ve waited to talk to her—let her come to me. Or not.” His voice rises at the end like it’s a question.

I peer at him out of the corner of my eye. No wonder he and Madison are so on-again, off-again. He’s the most indecisive person ever. This is definitely a side of him I’ve never seen.

“Dude,” Mica says in an exasperated tone, “do you not see who she’s talking to over there?”

Remembering Aimée’s text, I snap my head to see who Madison bumped into. Her back is to us, but I can tell by the way her hands are flapping about that she’s trying to be friendly. Still I can’t see who she’s talking to.

Mica’s hands ball into fists at his sides. A low growl rumbles in his chest. He’s clearly bothered by Madison talking to whoever is over there. The anxiety spreading across his face piques a memory I can’t quite grasp. It makes me wonder if he knows what happened to me. Was he there? I can’t even recall seeing him at the party, but he must’ve been invited.

When Madison starts down the hall again, finally off to her next class, I get a good look at who she was talking to: Caleb, who is still sitting on the floor, head propped against the wall. Mica communicates something silently with Drew and they stride toward Caleb.

“Nice black eye,” Mica says to Caleb. “What’d you do, run into your bong?”

Caleb slowly lifts his head, until he sees two varsity hockey players standing over him. He staggers to his feet, but he doesn’t seem intimidated by their size. Something else has him spooked.

He says, “She came up to me, okay?”

Mica laughs darkly at Caleb’s urgent tone. “We’re supposed to believe that?”

“What did she say to you?” Drew asks in a calmer voice.

Caleb answers, avoiding looking at Drew’s face, “I don’t speak neurotic. Sorry.”

Mica shoves Caleb. “Wrong answer.”

“She wanted to know if Cassidy talked to me at the party, okay?” Caleb straightens his bright blue hoodie, disheveled from Mica’s manhandling.

“And?” Mica shoves Caleb again.

Caleb glares at him and says mechanically, “I was high that night. I don’t remember.”

Mica laughs again, looking over at Drew. “He doesn’t remember. Maybe I’ll take credit for that shiner then, if you don’t remember how you got it. Give the other eye a waxing so you’ll have a matching pair.”

Drew pulls Mica back. “Relax. We’re good here.” He stares at Caleb. “Right?”

Caleb opens his mouth to make some comeback, but seems to think better of it. He gives a jerky nod before pushing between Drew and Mica to leave.

Mica lets out a low whistle. “You’ve got saintly self-control, dude. I was gearin’ up for an off-ice tag-team brawl.”

“You should rein in that impulse. It’ll mean trouble,” Drew says, still watching Caleb.

“Like I’m afraid of that,” Mica jeers.

“You said you saw him hitting on Cassidy Saturday night, right?”

“Yeah.” Mica clears his throat, his amused expression shifting. “I saw them together.”

“I can’t lose Maddy like that.”

“What, to him? Never, man.”

Drew slides Mica a knowing look. “To anyone.”

“Well, I don’t think you need to worry about Stoner Boy.” Mica gives Drew a chummy pat on the back. “With that pot he smokes, that junk kills your libido, y’know? Plus, I think if you were going to lose her it would have been after one of the four hundred other times you guys broke up.” Mica lets out an awkward laugh when Drew glares heavily at him. “I’m joking. She’s probably out of it because of Cassidy.” His expression goes serious. “I am too.”

“Yeah, I was wondering what would make you think your homework would be helpful to anyone.”

Mica knocks Drew on the shoulder. “You’re a real prick, you know that?” Drew smirks, and they walk toward the gym.

I stay put, wondering why it was so important to Aimée that Madison talk to Caleb. Does she think he had something to do with my death?

I make my way toward Aimée’s fourth-hour class, hoping she’ll do or say something that will clue me in to what she’s trying to uncover. As I turn the corner into the science hall, familiar voices trickle into my ears. I stop and turn to look at the perfectly solid wall in front of me, concentrating. I place my hand on the rough brick and allow my fingertips to slide through, then my arm and shoulders and chest until I’m completely on the other side. I have to hop to my left quickly because Aimée is pacing the narrow passage between the bathroom stalls and the sinks and is headed straight for me.

“We could pull him out of class,” Aimée suggests to Madison, who is sitting atop the big heat register. “The attendance office is signing passes for anyone who needs grief counseling. We could say it’s for that, then talk to him ourselves.”

“Judging by his nonresponse earlier, he’s not going to agree to counseling.”

I look between my two best friends. “Are you guys talking about Caleb?”

“People love getting passes from Guidance.” Aimée taps her smudged nails on her folded arms. “Most people,” she adds, because she would be completely annoyed if she had to miss a lesson on cell splicing or whatever it is they learn in Advanced Bio for something as inconsequential as a counseling session. I’m actually shocked to see her here instead of in class, even given the circumstances.

Madison replies, “Sure, when it’s for something regular like going over college applications. Not when it’s to talk about a dead girl.” She slouches against the wall with her knees bent close to her chest. “I can’t believe I said that.” Tears gather in the corners of her gray-blue eyes.

Aimée’s expression steels, as if the words she’s about to say are a necessary pain that will inevitably lead to a gain, like a tetanus shot. “What did he say when you talked to him?” Aimée asks, all business.

“Not much,” Madison tells her. “He was pretty self-medicated.”

Now I’m positive they’re talking about Caleb.

Aimée rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe he was high at eight-thirty in the morning. I’ll never get what Cassidy saw in him.”

“We don’t know anything about it. Maybe she really was innocently working on a class project with him.”

“Yeah, maybe I was.” Part of me hopes saying it out loud will make it true. But there’s something in Madison’s voice that tells me she doesn’t believe it any more than I do.

“Why would she keep working with him from us if nothing else was going on? And why did he crash her birthday party? How did he even know where I live?”

“Everyone knows where you live, Aims,” Madison counters.

Aimée finally stops pacing and squints at Madison. “You know what I mean. Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not!” Madison shifts uneasily and lowers her voice. “I’m sticking up for Cassidy.”

Aimée focuses on her hands, chipping away the flaws in her manicure. “That won’t bring her back.”

“Neither will making up some explanation for why she jumped.”

Aimée purses her lips. “The point is, she didn’t jump. And I’m not making anything up, Mads. I saw her and Caleb talking at the party. If we can piece together what happened in her final hours, we might be able to prove her fall wasn’t on purpose.”

“I don’t know. You might be overthinking this,” Madison says. “Dees was acting really strange lately.”

I turn to her. “I was?”

“I mean, buddying up with Caleb Turner,” she says as if answering my question. “Then wandering off to the bridge alone in the dark like that. Maybe the police are right. Maybe she wanted to…”

“Don’t even go there.” Aimée rushes to my defense. “Dees wasn’t suicidal—you knew her as well as I did. How can you even suggest that?”

“I’m trying to make sense of everything like you are, but … I—I don’t know if I can do this, Aims.” Madison’s head falls into her hands, hiding her face behind a tousle of shoulder-length waves the same auburn as mine. “This is too much.”

Aimée blinks back tears, squares her shoulders as she leans on the register, and puts an arm around Madison. “She was our best friend. It’s our duty to find out the truth about what happened to her.” Her strong voice clashes with the pained expression she wears. She blots her eyes dry with her sleeve just before Madison looks up.

“But—” Madison sniffles. “How do we know it wasn’t an accident? That’s what you said yesterday. She was drunk and it was icy. An accident makes sense. Why couldn’t it have been an accident?” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

“There’s something off about that note, but the police ruled her death a suicide without doing an investigation.” Aimée looks up at the ceiling. “I know this is a lot right now, and maybe no one else is involved, but I can’t believe that note was meant as a goodbye. The police have to be misinterpreting it. And if we don’t find out the real story behind it, they will file away her case for good. She’ll become a statistic, a name used to warn kids not to drink by the river.” She swallows down the tears thickening her voice. “I can’t let that happen to her. I won’t.”

Tears roll down Aimée’s cheeks. I reach out for her, but Madison hugs her before I can make the attempt. I’m happy they have each other, but I can’t help feeling jealous, too. We’re not a threesome anymore; they’re a duo.

“That’s not what I want either,” Madison says softly.

“Then help me ask around. See if anyone talked to her while she was on the bridge, if they saw anything.”

“Aimée, I—” Madison clamps her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I want to help you, but … I need this whole thing to be over.”

Aimée pushes off the register and starts digging in her messenger bag for something.

Madison watches her for a moment. She says, “I think I’m gonna go home early.”

Aimée stops digging, clutching her red binder.

Madison pulls a tube of lip gloss from her pocket and hands it to Aimée. It’s bubble gum, the only flavor Aimée hates more than my watermelon. She takes it without looking at Madison and rolls it over her dry lips.

“My dad’s gonna have a big bowl of I-told-you-so waiting for me at home,” Madison weakly tries to joke. “Are you staying?”

Aimée purses her newly glossed lips, hiding her disappointment in Madison’s decision. “I think someone should.”