“This race is in Amelia’s honor,” she’s telling the reporter.
Despite everything, her words fill me with white-hot rage. How could she say that? That lying bitch. How could she tell the world that Amelia was her best friend and all of this is in Amelia’s honor?
I look over at the table by the bed, where the pad of paper with the letter to my own best friend is written in my neat cursive, which Mia would know instantly. I close my eyes, remembering the words I scribbled on the paper in ballpoint pen:
Dear Mia,
You would have been so proud of me today.
The police arrested Natalie Farrell. She was at her stupid 5K race, and right in front of dozens of cameras, they snapped handcuffs on her wrists and took her away. You should have seen the look on her face.
I have dreamed of this day for so many years. Caleb and I dreamed about it together. There were times when he started to go soft on me, asking if it was worth it to go through with it, but I didn’t let him give up. I wouldn’t. And together, we made this happen.
Now Natalie will go to prison for the rest of her life. That’s what she deserves, although she will technically be going for a crime she didn’t commit. Still, since she is guilty of murder and was given a free pass, it feels justified.
I told you I would get vengeance. I told you I wouldn’t let Natalie get away with killing you. I made a promise on the day you died, and today, I honored that promise.
I love you. I will never forget you.
Sincerely,
Dawn Schiff
Chapter Forty-Seven
Amelia was her given name, but her friends called her Mia. Natalie wouldn’t know that, because she was never Mia’s friend. Natalie’s view of the world is very Natalie-centric. If something isn’t happening in her own personal little bubble, she doesn’t know about it.
That’s how she managed to work in a cubicle next to mine for nine months without realizing that the two of us went to high school together, albeit briefly. I always thought she was going to eventually figure it out and my cover would be blown, but she never did. To be fair, I looked very different in high school. I wasn’t as thin as I am now, and I had longer hair then. I was also a year ahead of her, because in sixth grade, Mia was out most of the year after a bad case of pneumonia put her in the hospital for months and she was held back. And Natalie transferred from another school at the beginning of her junior year, so we were only at the same school for a single year, in two different grades.
Even though she was the new girl, Natalie was the queen of our high school. Any surprise there? And Mia… wasn’t. Her mother gave birth to her ten weeks early, and she had lived with cerebral palsy her whole life. Her mind was fine, but she needed braces and crutches to walk. Her speech was slurred, especially when she got excited, which embarrassed her terribly.
I met Mia in first grade. We were supposed to pick buddies for a class trip, and I watched as the kids paired off as always, leaving me to be assigned to be buddies with another loser that nobody liked—or worse, the teacher. So I was surprised when the new girl with braces and crutches came straight over to me. Dawn, will you be my buddy?
I was so astonished, I didn’t know what to say at first. Even at age seven, I was used to being excluded from everything. Nobody ever invited me to their birthday party unless they invited the whole class, and even then they often found a way to exclude me. At first, I thought Mia might be teasing me. But then I saw the earnest wide-eyed expression on her face and something happened to me that had never happened ever before:
Another girl wanted to be my friend.
Of course, I said yes.
Mia was the greatest friend who ever was—she made my life worth living. Before she came along, I was utterly alone. People always made fun of me, and Mia had the same experience. It was just part of life for both of us. My mother told me I deserved it for being so weird. Mia was lucky enough that her parents were more supportive, and she had a big brother who looked out for her. We hoped things would get better as adults, but we accepted that kids can be cruel. And when we were together, it didn’t seem so bad.
Especially because we defended each other.
For example, in third grade, when Jared Kelahan wouldn’t quit making fun of Mia, I pushed him right off the monkey bars—you can bet that stopped the teasing. And when Duncan Albright wouldn’t stop calling me Turtle Girl, Mia threw some water on the crotch of his pants and started a very popular rumor that he wet himself. We had each other’s backs, always.
But when I was away at college, that’s when things deteriorated.
I couldn’t be there for my best friend. I couldn’t defend her anymore. All we could do was talk on the phone while I would reassure her that she was going to be okay. But that wasn’t enough.
Mia had a disability, and she was never apologetic or ashamed about it. So it was painful to watch her change in that way. The other kids giggled about the way she walked on crutches. Kids would try to trip her up—make her fall. On one occasion, she took such a bad spill in the hallway that she chipped her front tooth. And then they made fun of her marred smile.
But the worst part was the way they made fun of how she talked.
I loved Mia’s voice. I would give anything to hear it again. We used to talk on the phone for hours, and even though it took a little getting used to, I never had trouble understanding her. But she used to garble her words—especially when she was nervous or excited—one syllable slurring into another.
Natalie came up with a particularly nasty way to make fun of Mia. They shared a math class together, and every time Mia would answer a question, Natalie and her best friend Tara Wilkes would mimic the answer in that same slurred voice. Low enough that the teacher couldn’t hear it, but everyone around them could.
It gave other kids ideas. It started happening in all her classes. And when Mia complained about it, the teachers wouldn’t do anything. Natalie and Tara would never do anything like that, they would say.
After a couple of months of this torture, Mia stopped raising her hand in class.
We mostly communicated on the phone because I was long-distance, but it was hard not to notice the change in her personality. Mia had always been a strong person—stronger than me. She was the one who told me not to let myself cry in front of anyone else. But Natalie and the other girls broke her. I could hear the pain in her voice.
Hang in there, I told her. High school is almost over.
I know, she said. Believe me, I’m trying. I won’t let Natalie win.
I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling Mia’s parents to let them know what was going on, although she would have hated that. I even went so far as to type an email to Mia’s brother, hoping he might be able to do more than I could. But in the end, I believed Mia would get through it. It was, after all, more than halfway through senior year. Soon, she’d be in college and would leave all of this behind.
Then there was the Valentine’s Day incident.
For as long as I knew Mia, she had a crush on a boy named George. We went to school with him since kindergarten, and she used to fantasize about marrying him someday, even though she laughed when she talked about it. George was a nice kid, as far as I could tell. He wasn’t particularly handsome or popular or athletic, although he wasn’t an outcast like we were. He never laughed at Mia or made fun of her. He said hi to her in the hallway. He was kind.