My friends would say they know who I am, but really they just know who I wish I could be.
—Page 41 of Tessa Waye’s diary
All hell breaks loose at school. The next morning, Jenna Maxwell is crying. Again. Counselors are circulating. Again. And all the students have to attend a mandatory cyberbullying workshop in the auditorium tomorrow.
“You might have had a point about the whole ‘inflammatory’ Facebook comment.”
“You think?” Lauren is waiting for me after fourth period, arms tight across her chest. “If you wanted to draw attention to all this, you got it, Wick.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“I know.” Briefly, Lauren closes her eyes, and when they reopen, they’re hooded. “I know that wasn’t what you were doing, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. If someone traces it to you, you’re screwed. I’m worried you’re walking around with a target on your back.”
That makes two of us. Right now, I feel like my life has gone totally surreal. Everywhere you turn, people are talking about Tessa, her Facebook page, and the posts. Even though they don’t know who’s behind it, it still scares me.
In some ways, I’m used to being gossiped about. Everyone knows how my dad beat my mom and how my mom jumped because she couldn’t take it, but this is the closest anyone has ever gotten to me—the real me—and I don’t like it.
“You look exhausted,” Lauren says.
“Yeah. I was up most of the night. We had another visitor, and even after he left, I still couldn’t sleep.”
“That cop again?”
“Nope. Jim Waye.”
Lauren blinks. “What? Why?”
“Hell if I know.” I open my English notebook and check to make sure my homework is tucked inside. “He just stood across the street and stared up at our house.”
“Okay, that’s creepy.”
“No doubt. The thing is . . . I don’t understand why he would do it. I mean, he hates Todd, since Todd sicced the police on him. He’s not a big fan of mine—”
“Doesn’t matter. No one normal hangs around outside someone’s house in the middle of the night. The guy is seriously strange. You know he’s still showing up to cheerleading practice?”
I stare at Lauren.
“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, he used to watch our practices almost every day after school, and that was weird enough, but now that Tessa’s, you know, gone, he’s still showing up.” Lauren fidgets with the strap of her book bag, attention trained on the counselors circulating at the other end of the hallway.
“Look, I gotta go,” she says. “If I’m late for history one more time, Mrs. Gavin’s going to give me detention, and my mom will flip. Try to be good, okay?”
“Gee, Bren, you look awfully young today.”
Lauren stalks down the hallway, middle finger raised, and a group of freshman girls scatter in four different directions to get away from her.
Norcut might have a point about the anger management issues. I turn to my locker, ready to get going, but I don’t move fast enough, and Jenna Maxwell, her boyfriend, and her flying monkeys cruise past, heading for their own lockers.
Usually, Jenna’s mere presence makes me remember I need to do something, anything really, that’s far away from her. In fact, it’s so instinctual my feet are already moving, but I can’t seem to stop . . . staring.
This was Tessa’s best friend—and yeah, that’s obvious—but knowing what I know now, it feels different. This is the girl who should’ve known what happened, who should be tracking down her best friend’s attacker, and instead, Tessa’s stuck with me.
I pretend to trade books again and watch the girls from the corner of my eye. I tell myself it’s reconnaissance. After all, this was Tessa’s world, and that’s something I’m trying to piece back together to discover where it all went wrong.
Except it kind of just shows me where I’ve gone wrong. It’s funny the way they all touch one another, the natural way they hug. Makes them seem like a different species entirely—or maybe it’s just that I am. Jenna’s friends have none of my hesitancy or awkwardness. They’re stroking her arms and trying to soothe her tears in a way that makes me pause. I might be even a little . . . envious? Tessa felt so alone, but how could you ever be alone in the middle of all these friends? How could you feel alone when you’re so damn perfect? When your friends look after you so well?
“I just don’t understand why she did it.” Jenna smacks her locker shut with a flattened palm, and her friends draw away in surprise. Anger. It’s even more familiar to me than Jenna’s sneer.
She doesn’t understand, and she’s furious. I get that. Sometimes I hate my mom for doing it too. Sometimes I understand. Jenna will feel the same way about Tessa, and I want to tell her it will get better. I want to—
“My mom says she’ll go to hell for it,” Jenna announces. “Says Tessa’s going to burn for eternity.”
It hurts more than any blow. I don’t want to believe in a God who would turn his back on someone who needed him so much. Suicides, more than anyone, deserve God’s love. They’re the lost ones, the forgotten ones, the ones he’s supposed to notice.
And did he? Did anyone?
Sudden nausea threatens to curl my knees into the floor. Jenna prattles on and on and I shouldn’t be listening to any of it, but I can’t shut down her words. Is this part of the reason Tessa didn’t tell anyone? Part of the reason she jumped?
“She deserves hell,” Jenna continues, brushing pale blond hair behind her ears. “Committing suicide makes you a coward.”
“You’re a bitch, Jenna.”
She rounds on me in one smooth pivot. “What did you say?” she demands.
For a second, I really don’t know. The words just snaked out of me, and now I want to call them back, because in four little words I just reminded them I still exist, and even worse, I revealed how much I still hurt.
And Jenna sees it too.
Her mouth tilts into a sideways smile. “What’s the matter, Wicket? Hit a little close to home?”
“You shouldn’t talk about Tessa like that.”
“Why’s that?” Jenna gets a little closer, and without thinking, I retreat a step, but my shoulders hit the lockers and she’s closer than ever now, so close I can smell her citrus gum and see her eyes aren’t even bloodshot. All of Jenna’s crying has been fake. It’s been for attention.
It makes my hands curve into fists. I ought to punch her—for Tessa’s sake, for my mom’s, but suddenly I feel like crying. How can Jenna live with herself? She’s making her best friend’s death into an accessory, wearing the grief like it’s a Kate Spade purse.
“You think Tessa cares?” Jenna sneers.
“No, but I do.” I swallow and take a small step forward. Maybe it surprises her, maybe no one’s ever been so stupid, but it forces her back. “She was your friend.”
Jenna makes a strangled little noise like a gasp caught halfway up her throat. Her palm shoots out, catching me in the shoulder, slamming me into the lockers. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. But people are staring now. I glance around for help, but even Jenna’s friends won’t meet my eyes.
“You’re nothing more than trash, Wicket.”
For some reason it stings worse coming from Jenna than it ever did coming from Carson. Jenna pulls away, smiles at her boyfriend. “And do you know what you do with trash?”
What do you do with trash? I have no idea until her no-neck boyfriend laughs. Oh shit. You throw it out.