I sit on a chair outside the principal’s office and wait until Mother comes marching down the hall toward me, her face scrunched in worry.
“What happened?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
I shrug and follow her to the car. As we pull out of the parking lot, she sighs loudly a few times. “Seriously, Jessica. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s no big deal,” I say. “I got tired.” She doesn’t look convinced, but when we get home she doesn’t stop me from heading straight to my room.
I am living a lie, trying to pretend to be someone I am not. And when I think I understand the Girl even a little, I get it wrong. This guy, Harrison. How could she like such a jerk? I stand in the middle of the room and look around at all the things the Girl chose to put here: the books, the posters, the fuzzy pillows. What I see on the shelves catches me by surprise.
All those little frogs I smashed on the night of the party look fine, staring up at me like nothing happened. I step closer and study the fine cracks and the clear blobs of glue keeping the damaged parts together. Whoever fixed them must have spent hours. I should be touched. But somehow I’m not convinced they did it for me, exactly—more for the Girl or the memory of her.
I’m living in a museum dedicated to a beloved daughter, sister and friend. One who no longer exists. I march over to the mirror and stare the Girl down.
“You,” I say. “Who are you anyway? I’m getting tired of all this. Can’t you help me out a little?”
She peers back at me, and I detect a slight twinkle in her eyes. I lean closer, shaking a finger. “You’re not faking, are you? Like Harrison said? You wouldn’t hide from me on purpose?”
No answer and no reaction. I could reach out and smack that face, punch the glass until it shatters into pieces. But what’s the point? I’ve been down that road, and it never brings me any closer to understanding her. I get so close to the glass that my breathing makes a small circle of fog. “Are you even listening to anything I say?”
And it hits me all of a sudden how this would look if someone saw me talking to my reflection. Totally demented. But then again, Dr. K. did ask me to write the Girl a letter. Is that really any different?
“Fine,” I say to the Girl, backing up. I swipe the haze from the glass. “I’ll write to you then. You better read it!”
I walk over to my desk and pull out a sheet of paper and a pen.
Dear Jessie,
Hi.
I chew the end of the ballpoint pen. What is it I want her to know, exactly?
You don’t know me, but I am the new you. The person who has taken over your life.
As soon as I put ink to paper again, my hand picks up speed, the ideas coming without any thinking at all.
I feel awkward writing this, and to be honest I don’t see the point, but hey, I have to do my homework.
I’ll cut to the chase. I’m getting pretty frustrated with you. You know everything I need to know, but you are not letting me in at all. What happened on that Very Bad Day? Why did you go in the bison pen when you knew you weren’t supposed to? Why did you get us in this fix? It doesn’t sound like something you would do, breaking the rules like that.
Deep down, though, I don’t blame you. Really, all I want is to know you.
How are you? Are you lonely where you are? Where are you anyway? Do you feel trapped, like there’s a huge wall blocking you, keeping you out? Do you watch me screwing things up and wish you could jump back in and take control? I bet you do. Cause I am seriously a mess.
Everyone wants me to be you, but I’m not. The crazy thing is, I don’t feel like you, but I’m not me either. I guess I’m nobody. I’m truly sorry that you’ve been replaced by such a nobody.
Things are not so great here in your life. I don’t know if you used to like being here. Probably you did. Because you got to choose your friends and what you did and where you went and what you wore and what you put in your room. Not me. I’ve shown up here, and I have to live with the choices you made and pretend to like it all. Well, most of it is lame. No insult. I’m sure it was all fine for you, but to me it’s pure fluff.
More than anything, I wish you would come back and take over. Just slip back into this body and start being yourself, and everyone would be so happy. Yeah, they would say, that dumb cow is gone. You’re back! Our nice normal sweet Jessie. No more temper tantrums and messy room and hanging out on the couch all day.
Trying to be you is a real bitch.
Love,
Your new self
I read the letter once, then again. It felt sort of good to write it, but where does it leave me? It’s not like the Girl is actually going to write me back.