So I started with my dad, and what the house was like when I came home last night. How the paramedics had been there while I was out, and how Sara wouldn’t wake up, and the hospital room and that horrible mask that they’d put over her face. I told them about the dog that definitely wasn’t Fuller, and the fight with my mom. I don’t know why, but I stopped right before the part about the missing photograph. Would it sound too weird? Like I was…maybe losing my mind a little?
“My mom was lying about it. And I don’t know if something happened. Maybe he got hit by a car, or maybe they just had to put him down…” My chest felt tight, and I tried to push it away, the thought that I was never going to see Fuller again. “…maybe she didn’t want to tell me. I mean, he was really old. Maybe she didn’t think I could handle it.”
“That sounds a little extreme,” Amber finally said. We’d just pulled into the school’s long, winding driveway. The upperclassmen parking lot was still half empty.
“I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Kristen threw the Volvo into park and stared out the windshield. Kevin Pak and Liz Woodward were sitting on the back bumper of Kevin’s Miata, making out. Kristen didn’t seem to register them.
“You’ve just had to deal with a lot lately,” she finally said. “Your mom is definitely anxious and overprotective, and she still seems pretty pissed about the break-in. But she’s not a liar. At least I don’t think she is?”
“So then what happened? Where is Fuller, and who is this other dog?” I leaned forward, resting my hands on their seats.
Amber glanced sideways at Kristen, and it was so subtle I wouldn’t have noticed it unless I was right there, right next to them. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Amber shrugged.
“You just gave Kristen this look, like I’m being weird or something.”
“You just told us your mom found another dog and replaced your real dog, because she’s trying to trick you,” Amber said.
“Okay, when you put it like that it sounds wild. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t actually happen,” I said.
Amber picked at her glittery nail polish. “You’ve just been on edge lately,” she said. “I feel awful about what’s going on with Sara, and we want to be there for you, seriously. We do. It’s just…I don’t know what happened, but I really doubt that’s it.”
She grabbed her backpack and got out of the car. Kristen fiddled with the bag in the back, pulling out some gym clothes before heading toward the school’s front entrance. I followed behind them. At some point Amber changed the subject, pointing out the faded chalk 1998s on the sidewalk—remnants of the senior prank. I just nodded, feeling like I couldn’t say anything right. I knew what I’d seen. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. I’d been certain that they’d believe me. Why did Amber and Kristen always feel the need to dissect everything until it was a confusing mess? Didn’t they know I’d never make this up?
I still felt so separate from them, even now. They were supposed to be my best friends, but lately everything was off. I’d told them a dozen times about the fact that I 1) had feelings for Tyler and 2) had kissed him the night of Jen Klein’s party, but they still kept bringing up Patrick Kramer and that stupid Spring Formal invite. It was absurd. On the ride home from Jen’s, Kristen had asked two questions about me making out with Tyler, my best guy friend since fourth grade, and ten questions about the three-minute interaction I’d had with Patrick. In the past few days Amber had only mentioned Tyler once, offhandedly, and Kristen hadn’t mentioned him at all. Why couldn’t they at least pretend to be happy for me?
As we walked inside, I stared at the back of Amber’s Kipling bag. The tiny monkey swung back and forth with each step. It hadn’t even been a week since that thing had fallen out of her backpack, and she’d made all these excuses, trying to explain it away. I still couldn’t get a straight answer from either of them about what it was.
And she thought I was the one being weird?
14
You can feel when people have been talking about you. After fourth period the air was thick with it, and everywhere I went someone stared at me just a half second too long, or gave me one of those conciliatory, pressed-lip smiles. I had History second period and I’d made the mistake of talking to Mrs. Chen as the bell rang, the class scrambling to find their seats. Someone must’ve overheard what I’d said, because the news had spread like lice.
It just seemed like another drama for kids to play out. They picked their roles and created storylines that weren’t there. Poor Jess Flynn, did you hear about her sister? Or I know their family, our moms are friends. Sara hasn’t left her room in months. There’s nothing like tragedy to reveal the grossest sides of people.
I spun through my locker combo, trying to ignore Deiondre Matthews, a senior who played the clarinet. His locker was a few down and he kept glancing over, giving me this deep, sympathetic stare, like he was hoping to get my attention. I tugged hard on the lock and it popped open. Our school only had half-sized lockers, otherwise I might’ve crawled inside and stayed there.
Scott Wolf gazed out from the collage on the locker’s back wall. Kristen and Amber decorated the inside of it for my birthday, and it had really just become a Scott Wolf shrine, which I tried to pretend was ironic. There were magazine pictures of him from Party of Five and White Squall, and Teen Beat posters of him smiling that dimpled smile. A paper dialogue bubble by one said I LOVE YOU, JESSICA FLYNN.
“Jess, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Patrick Kramer was walking toward me. Unless I stuffed everything in my locker and sprinted in the opposite direction, there was no way to avoid this.
“Patrick, hey. I was actually just leaving. Don’t want to be late for lunch.”
“Lunch?”
Then he was right next to me. I angled the locker door so he wouldn’t see the Scott Wolf collage. “Yeah, the early bird gets the…I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“I heard about your sister. I’m really sorry.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and I was trapped. He wasn’t going to leave until I said something.
“Thanks. I really should go, though.”
“I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
“That’s okay, I don’t want to talk.”
Not to you, I thought.
He leaned down so his face was inches from mine and stared out from under a thick curtain of black lashes. His hair had a natural wave to it, and his complexion was smooth and bright. He looked like he’d stepped out of a J.Crew catalog.