He did, too, because he filled the chilly night with hoarse laughter. “Your funeral.”
“Funny stuff.”
“Until next time, Charlotte Richards.”
He took a small, regal bow, turned around, and strolled away, leaving me to stand there, my blood dripping down my thigh.
Did I just save this guy’s life?
Or did he save mine?
age fifteen
I arrived on the roof famished.
Leah had been dodging my ass for days. She went straight from work to her evening classes to become an aesthetician and slept on the trains in-between.
I’d wanted to get something from the Dollar Tree on my way here, but I’d spent all my money on books this week.
Better to feed my soul than my body.
Five minutes past eleven, and I wondered what made me think he would show up. True to our pact, we hadn’t spoken to each other all year. I’d seen him every day at St. Paul, barring summer break.
He’d gotten a lip piercing. Dyed his hair platinum. And he was pretty much the star of fistfights around the hallways.
Kellan now wore kilts and ripped women’s pantyhose to school. I’d heard from Cressida and Kylie that he wrote short thrillers for online fanzines and took E and Oxy.
I pretended not to care.
I did care.
But I had my own social problems to worry about. Namely, how I’d turned from Charlotte Richards to Lots of Dicks (Lottie Dicks) overnight after I’d pointed out in Sex Ed that it’s unfair to expect women to have fewer sexual partners than men do.
Everyone had laughed.
Everyone other than Kellan.
His bloodshot eyes zoned in on his phone as he sat in the back row, pretending he wasn’t there. He was getting scarily good at not being in places that he was physically in.
My suicidal thoughts had gotten less frequent.
Or maybe just more manageable.
There were moments when life overwhelmed me, and it was hard to breathe. When the guilt became too much. When my classmates, my sister, life became too much.
Sometimes, I lay in bed, listening to my own heartbeats thudding against the mattress and willing my heart to stop.
It seemed so easy. I could instruct my limbs to move, my eyes to blink. I could even hold my breath.
Still, my heart was steadfast.
The defiant little creature.
It was a lesson I’d started to get used to: I had no control over my heart. It would do what it would do with no regard to the rest of my body.
I guess that was the whole fascination with this organ. It could be your ruin, your salvation, your friend, and your enemy.
At night, I stared at the wall and thought about Mom and Dad and what they’d do or say to make it better.
I thought about Leah and her pennies. About sticky summer days, splashing each other in fountains. Cartwheeling in our backyard and eating ice cream together.
A part of me was glad I’d stuck around to hate myself every day for what happened to my parents. To Leah.
It was ten past now.
Kellan wasn’t here yet.
I sat down, rocking my right leg back and forth. I was so hungry I was lightheaded.
The only signs I’d gotten throughout the year to indicate that night on the roof wasn’t a hallucination were our secret exchanges.
Three weeks after Valentine’s Day, I’d found On the Road on my desk. I’d opened it and discovered a note inside, a few bucks to cover the library fine, along with a USB.
I feel like your soul and mine are made of the same stuff. The black slug.
You make me hopeful, but that’s the last thing I should be.
Let me know what you think.
When I got home, I plugged the USB into my dying laptop. He’d left me a Word document. Ten pages long. A short story about a boy who falls in love with his pet spider.
I cried when the boy’s mom killed the spider.
I wondered what it meant.
A few days later, I left another book on Kellan’s desk.
Don Quixote.
Tucked inside the first page were his USB and a note.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to die before I fall in love.
Before I lose my virginity.
Before I make up with Leah.
By the way, I cried when the spider died. More, please.
C
We ping-ponged through small notes, and books, and short stories. Kellan said he’d already had sex, already fallen in love, already made peace with the fact that he wouldn’t make up with his brother.
So, for him, he had nothing left to scratch off the bucket list.
Kellan was a friend without being one. A dark, clandestine cave I slinked into when I bothered to get my nose out of my textbooks.
I didn’t think anyone in my class knew what my grades meant to me. Why I broke down crying when I saw an A-minus. Why I chased teachers in the hallways and always arrived everywhere fifteen minutes early.
I was the designated brainiac, but only because I couldn’t afford to be anything else.
I was about to go downstairs when I heard it.
Tap, tap, tap.
I’m going to kill you for being late.
The thought made me chuckle.
He showed up on the edge of the rooftop. He wore a kilt over black skinny jeans, a distressed hoodie, and a denim jacket on top with patches from punk bands.
Wordlessly, Kellan took off his backpack, unzipped it, and threw something into my hands. “Happy Birthday, Dicks.”
I unwrapped the doughy, round thing. A blueberry muffin in a Costa paper bag. My mouth watered, my stomach growled, and I resisted the very serious urge to hug him.
Maybe because I was delirious with hunger.
Maybe because Leah “forgot.”
Again.
“Thanks.” I played it off, plopping down and tucking in.
Kellan settled in front of me. Seeing him here out of context reminded me he was a boy.
A cute one at that.
Even so, we were kinda pathetic.
When we’d made that pact, we’d both assumed we would have nothing to do every Valentine’s Day for the rest of high school.
No dates.
No celebrations.
No one in our lives.
And we were right.
Pathetic.
He watched me eat, cracking open a can of Bud Light and guzzling the beer. “How’s the black slug doing?”
Subtext: Do you still want to jump?
I shook my head, my mouth full.
Kellan watched me in amusement, producing another muffin from his bag. He threw it at me like I was a feral animal he needed to feed through bars. I was too hungry to care. I felt subhuman as I ripped into the second muffin.
“Are you not tempted? Not even a little?” He was going for mischievous, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
“I’m a long way from happy, and there are still moments when I want to do it, but I think I’m okay.”
“And your sister?”
“Still hates me. Mom used to tell us, ‘Don’t shrink yourself to help others grow.’ When I’m with Leah, I feel half my height, but she doesn’t look taller, either. I hate being home, so I end up at the library often.”
“What are you reading these days?”