I marched over and grabbed the scrapbook from his lap. It was open to my most recent page.
Woman Dies from Minor Cut on Finger
A mother of two contracted necrotizing fasciitis, more commonly known as flesh-eating disease, after receiving a minor paper cut at work…
Child Killed in Roller-Coaster Tragedy
A seven-year-old boy died on Sunday after the safety bar on his roller-coaster car failed to lock properly. Onlookers watched in horror as the boy flew out of the car during the coaster’s descent…
Man Beheaded in Elevator Accident
Fifty-two-year-old Victor Farmiga was “a gentleman,” say those who knew him. When the elevator in his office building opened its doors slightly above the second floor, he held the doors open and handed the other passengers out. But the elevator suddenly shot upward, beheading Farmiga…
Girl, 9, Mauled to Death by Nana’s Dogs
Friends and family are reeling after a young girl was attacked by her grandmother’s two dogs in the woman’s backyard. The girl was rushed to hospital, where she was pronounced dead on arrival…
Nurse Killed Walking Past Construction Site
A young nurse was struck and killed by a falling sheet of metal as she walked to her first day on the job at St. Michael’s Hospital. Veronica Lamar had just graduated with flying colors from nursing college…
Teenager Trampled to Death at Boxing Day Sale
A teenage girl was trampled to death by fellow shoppers looking for a bargain at a popular electronics store on Friday. When the doors opened, the crowds surged forward and the young girl fell to the floor…
Child Tumbles Off Balcony Trying to Fly
A three-year-old is dead after she tried to “fly like Tinker Bell” from her family’s tenth-floor balcony. Her mother is said to be inconsolable…
Man Dies When Basement Swallowed by Sinkhole
A thirty-eight-year-old man was sleeping soundly when a sinkhole opened up beneath his house, swallowing the lower floor where his bedroom was located…
My breath came in short, sharp bursts. No one, no one, was supposed to see my scrapbook. “How dare you? How dare you look through my stuff?” My voice wasn’t my voice. It was screechy.
Jacob didn’t even have the decency to look caught. “I thought it was a photo album. I didn’t know it was page after page of articles on freak deaths.”
“If you tell anyone—”
“I’m not going to tell anyone. Who would I tell?”
“I don’t know! Kids at school? I know people talk about me. I know people think I’m a weirdo.”
I started to sway, feeling dizzy. “Whoa,” Jacob said. He put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “Sit,” he said. Like I was a dog. But I did as I was told. “Breathe.” I breathed. “I don’t think you’re a weirdo. Offbeat, yes. A fatalist, yes.”
“I’m not a fatalist. I’m a pessimist. There’s a difference.”
“Why are you a pessimist?”
“It’s just common sense. You’ve heard about Darwin’s theory of evolution? Survival of the fittest? The pessimists were the fittest. They were the ones who were wary of neighboring tribes, or cute little lion cubs. They knew the cute lion cubs’ mother was nearby. The optimists were like, ‘Here, kitty kitty.’ Their optimism literally killed them.”
“But the optimists were happier, surely.”
“Maybe. But at what cost? Pessimists live longer lives.”
“Smaller lives.”
“Safer lives.”
Jacob indicated the scrapbook. “This isn’t a reflection of reality. You must have to dig deep to uncover these stories.”
“That’s the thing, I don’t. Tragedies like this happen every day. It is reality.”
He shook his head, unconvinced. “Okay, but why keep a record?”
I struggled to explain. “It reminds me to be vigilant. And also…it makes me feel like I’m not so alone.” I felt tears sting my eyes. No. Nonononono. I will not cry in front of him. I pointed at one of the articles, working hard to steady my voice. “That grandma. Her dogs killed her grandchild. How does she live with that? And that mom who let her seven-year-old ride the roller coaster. She’ll never forgive herself.”
“It wasn’t her fault.”
“Wasn’t it? Maybe, if she’d done her research, she wouldn’t have let him on that rickety old thing. Maybe he’d still be home, playing with Legos.”
“Have you always seen the world this way?”
“No.”
Jacob took my hand in his real one. It was a big hand, warm and dry, and it encompassed mine. I tried hard not to think about germs. “What happened to your sister?”
“How do you know I had a sister?”
“Your mom told me.”
Of course she had. Mom couldn’t get through a couple of hours without bringing up Maxine.
“She choked to death. On a button. A button I’d sewn onto an outfit I’d made for her, which shouldn’t have had buttons in the first place because she was only three.”
“And you think it was your fault.”
“Not think. Know.”
I waited for him to disagree with me, because that’s what people did. I waited for him to say, “That’s ridiculous, you’re not to blame, blah blah blah.”
But he didn’t. “I get it. I live with that, too.”
I stayed very still.
“My two best friends died. I didn’t. Same accident, but I’m still here. Like Harry Potter: the boy who lived.”
“Tell me what happened. The truth this time.”
He looked straight ahead, still holding my hand. “We had a basketball game, preseason, north of Toronto. I’m a terrible player. I was only on the team because of my height. I sat on the bench most of the time, but I never cared because my best friends were on the team, too. Randle McMurphy and Ben Willard. The three of us took film studies together and shot shorts all the time. I’d direct and Randle and Ben would write, act, crew—everything.
“Ben was older than us, and he’d just got his full license. We took his mom’s car to the game. Afterward, we headed back to the city. It was snowing. Dark. A drunk driver…”
“No.”
“When I came to, I was pinned under a bunch of crushed metal. The paramedics used the Jaws of Life to get me out. I lost part of my arm. Randle and Ben…” His face clouded over. “Hard not to feel guilty when you’re the sole survivor.”
I got it. I was close friends with guilt, and I knew it was seldom rational.
“So here I am. Almost eighteen and repeating eleventh grade because I flamed out spectacularly last year. It’s why we moved here. I just couldn’t be in that school anymore.”
I squeezed his hand. He grabbed the box of Kleenex I kept by my bed and blew his nose loudly, honking like a Canada goose. Then he tried to hand the tissue to me.
“Um, ew.” I pointed to the garbage can under my desk.
He left shortly afterward.
This time, we exchanged phone numbers.