Tragedy Girl (7 page)

Thirteen

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Melanie crosses her arms. “They’re
my
notes, Anne,” she reminds me, “not yours.”

She holds an even gaze for a moment, then softens ever so slightly. “I didn’t mean to sound snotty,” she tells me, squinting into the late-afternoon sun as students amble toward their cars or buses in the school parking lot. “I know this is creeping you out too.”

Still, Melanie was clearly stung when I suggested in the lunchroom that Jamie, not the letter-writer, was the person we should really be worried about. She’s been kind of cold all afternoon, and now she’s floating an idea that she knows I won’t like: showing the notes to Jamie.
Jamie,
of all people.
I feel terrible that I’ve cast aspersions on him—yes, I get that the letter writer is probably full of crap—but how can we not at least consider taking the notes at face value?

I tug on my backpack strap. “It’s just … I hate to give those stupid notes so much power. The writer is obviously trying to get a rise out of us … well, out of
you
. If we start showing the notes to other people, it’ll just fuel the flames. Why give her the satisfaction?”

“
Her
,” Melanie repeats pointedly. “So you think it’s Natalie too.”

I sigh. “Okay, let’s say it
is
Natalie. We already know she’s a flake, so, duh, now we have more evidence. Big whoop. The important thing is that we also know she’s harmless.”

“
Do
we?” Melanie says, a hint of urgency in her voice.

I give her a level gaze. “She’s the kind of person who brings brownies to guys in hospitals,” I remind her. “She’s insecure, not vicious.”

Melanie sucks in her lips. “The things she said to you at the bonfire were pretty vicious.”

I shake my head, a muggy breeze rustling through my hair. “Still, I don’t think she’s going to bring an Uzi to school if you don’t break up with Jamie. She’s just trying to create drama. Wouldn’t we be playing right into her hands if half the school was suddenly talking about her ridiculous anonymous notes?”

A steady stream of students walks past us on the sidewalk.

“I’m not talking about showing the notes to half the school,” Melanie says, whispering now. “I’m talking about showing them to Jamie. He deserves to know somebody is ragging on him.”

My shoulders droop. “But if Jamie knows, then Blake will find out, and he’s already upset about Natalie, so … ”

Melanie observes me coolly. “Jamie doesn’t tell Blake everything.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Doesn’t he?”

“It’s so insulting. Everybody acts like Jamie is just an extension of Blake. He’s his own person, you know. An awesome person.”

I look at her quizzically. “What’s going on?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Our whole lives don’t revolve around
you
guys, you know.”

I hug my arms together. “What do you mean?”

She gives me a sly smile. “I mean we kinda hooked up last night.”

My jaw drops.

“Why are you so stunned?” Melanie asks. “We
are
dating, after all. It’s not like we signed a contract to only hang out with you and Blake. Not that we don’t like hanging out with—”

“Where did you see him?” I ask, my stomach muscles tensing as I mentally review the messages from the notes.

Melanie tosses her head jauntily. “I called him. I told him I didn’t want to wait until Saturday to spend more time with him, that I’d been thinking about him since our pool game and couldn’t get him off my mind. I really like him, Anne. I’m going for it this time.”

“So … he came to your house?”

She nods. “He picked me up and we went out for ice cream. Then we sat in his car in my driveway for … a
very
long time.”

I bite my bottom lip lightly.

Melanie seems to be gauging my reaction. “I don’t hook up with just anybody,” she tells me defensively. “I mean it, Anne. I really like Jamie.”

I nod, feeling my heart beat against my blouse.

“But we didn’t even really …
do
anything last night. I mean, we kissed—he’s a great kisser—but when it got heavier than that, he … ”

A distant rumble of thunder churns in an otherwise sunny sky. “He what?” I prod.

Melanie’s lashes flicker. “He … started crying.”

I shift my weight, slipping a hand into my jeans pocket. “Oh.”

“He cried for a long time,” Melanie says, a faraway look in her eyes. “I kept asking him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. He just … held me really tight. Like,
clutched
me, almost. It broke my heart to see him cry, but it was so touching. It was like he knew he was safe with me, knew he could let down his guard. I’ve never felt so close to a guy.”

Melanie studies my face, then says, “Whoever wrote those notes is just messing with me, Anne. There’s nothing dangerous about Jamie. He’s the most gentle, sweet guy in the world. And he deserves to know somebody’s spreading rumors about him.”

Another rumble of thunder rolls, this one closer. “Are you going to see him tonight?” I ask her.

Melanie shakes her head. “He’s going out of town overnight with his family. I’ll show him the notes on our date tomorrow. And I think Blake should see them too. If it’s Natalie, he’ll know better than any of the rest of us how to handle it.
He’s
the one she’s obsessed with, after all.”

I swallow hard, then nod reluctantly. “Okay,” I say, wishing I could untangle the knot in my stomach.

I guess it gives me some reassurance to know that Mela
nie thinks Jamie is the world’s sweetest guy. But I barely know him, and I have a nagging suspicion that Melanie might not know him as well as she thinks she does.

That letter writer might be unhinged, but she—she, he, whoever—definitely knows something about Jamie that we don’t.

I can’t help wondering what it is.

I smile as I see my head bobbing out of the water, Mom and Dad on either side of me.

I’m about eight in the photo, and frothy waves are splashing all around us.

I smile wistfully as my finger traces the picture, the clock on my bedside table ticking in the stillness. I’m having a hard time falling asleep tonight—another friggin’ note, for crying out loud—so for the first time since the accident, I’m lying in bed thumbing through a photo album, one of several Aunt Meg stacked on the bookshelf when I moved in.

The picture I’m gazing at was taken right here on Hollis Island during high tide. I always loved high tide the best, when the waves can sweep you ten feet in the air, then either carry you to the shore or crash mercilessly over your head. Part of the fun was never knowing whether you were going to be whisked along with the wave, feeling like you were flying on a magic carpet, or unceremoniously dunked into the sea, thrashed about like a hand towel in a washing machine. I was up for either scenario, and I always went back for more. The bigger the waves, the better. I loved the rough-and-tumble dance with the ocean.

Of course, back when the picture was taken, Mom and Dad were never more than an arm’s length away. They loved the ocean too, loved pushing me through a wave or plucking me out of the water like a drowning rat.

Drowning.

I peer into space. What must it have felt like for Cara to drown that night? She must have felt so alone in the inky darkness. It’s what I imagine Mom and Dad feeling like in their last moments, too. Even though they were together, I wonder how much fear they felt as they took their last breaths. Did they meet each other’s eyes? Reach out for each other’s hands? Could they comfort each other in their last moment of consciousness, or is dying inevitably a solo endeavor? Did they think about me? Were they scared? So many questions … so many questions I’ll never have the answers to. If only I could at least see them in my dreams …

Too soon,
my mom’s voice intones.
Too soon.

As I flip the page of the photo album, I feel a stab in my chest as I contemplate how simple my life used to be. Friends with purple hair, or impromptu suspensions for breaking the dress code with leopard-print leggings—that’s as action-packed as my life was a mere three months earlier. Now … anonymous notes, evil glares in the hall, a tragic drowning. I wish I could reach into the picture and recapture my eight-year-old life.

I wince as I reflect that the common denominator in all of the drama is … Blake.

I wonder what Mom and Dad would think of him. They’d always been famously tolerant of even my quirkiest friends (Jade with the purple highlights, Caroline with her goth makeup, Sawyer with his snarky nonconformity), but they were shrewd judges of character as well. My weird friends suited them fine; my sketchy friends, not so much.

Maybe they’d jump for joy over a guy like Blake: a high-achieving, wholesome-looking guy who volunteers at the children’s hospital. What’s not to love?

Unless they would agree with Uncle Mark’s assessment.

Unless they’d worry that he was too smooth.

I shut the photo album, put it on my bedside table, turn off my lamp, and push the covers under my chin, trembling slightly as the crickets chirp outside. I think Uncle Mark is just being overly cautious. After all, this parenting business is totally new territory for him. And I’m sure he feels extra protective of me, considering what I’ve been through. Mom and Dad would appreciate his vigilance, no doubt. But they’d also probably roll their eyes at his paranoia, assuring him that only the most neurotic parents overreact to teenage stuff.

Yes. That’s what they’d do.

I think.

A tear courses down my cheek as I ponder how badly I wish they were here to ask.

Fourteen

“Refill, please.”

Blake nods toward his empty glass, and the waitress scoops it up and carries it off.

“I say we take a break from movies for a while,” he tells us, putting his arm around my shoulder in our booth. “Two stinkers in one week are enough to make me take up bowling.”

Jamie ignores him, studying his menu while flicking his blond hair off his shoulder, and I ignore Melanie, who’s desperately trying to catch my eye. I know, I know; she’s dying to show the guys the notes. But I still object, on the grounds I laid out in the school parking lot. I get that this is her call. Fine. Whatever. But I’m going to prolong my drama-free evening as long as possible.

“And what was with those special effects?” Blake says. “Geez, I could’ve done better with my Deluxe Whiz Kid chemistry set. I’ve seen bigger explosions in science class.”

Jamie interrupts his menu-reading just long enough to briefly scowl at him.

Jesus! If Blake has decided a break from movies is a good idea, I’m close to suggesting that a break from double dates is a downright
stellar
idea. Whatever tension is festering between Blake and Jamie is clearly not a fleeting thing.

The waitress returns with Blake’s filled glass, and he offers her a dimpled grin and a wink. Now Jamie is glaring at him. Blake’s eyes flicker in his direction, then quickly look away.

“Hey,” Blake says, “I’ve heard the cheesecake here is really—”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Melanie exhales through puffed-up cheeks as all eyes fall on her. “There. I said it.”

The guys look at her quizzically. I cringe.

“What is it?” Jamie asks her.

Melanie scans our faces, then reaches into her purse and puts the notes on the table, smoothing them with the heel of her hand. Blake and Jamie lean in closer, squinting at the pieces of paper.

“This was the first one,” she says, pointing to the pithier of the two. “It was in the mailbox when I got home from our date last Saturday.”

The guys’ lips move subtly as they read it, Blake tilting his head for a better angle.

“Then, this one was in my locker yesterday.”

Just as the guys’ eyes rest on note number two, Melanie plucks it up and reads it aloud. As she somberly reads the last line—
Please listen this time so both of us can get back to our lives and I can stop freaking you out—
I notice that Jamie’s face has turned ashen.

“I wasn’t sure when I got the first one whether it was really meant for me,” Melanie says in a slow, deliberate cadence. “But the second one mentions Jamie and me by name. Jamie is the one I should stay away from. My life supposedly depends on it.”

She purses her lips and folds her hands on the table.

“I gotta … I gotta … ” Jamie bolts from the table and runs to the restroom, his chalky face now tinged with gray.

“Oh my gosh,” Melanie says, craning her neck to follow his path. “Blake, should you go after—”

“Why would you show him that crap?” Blake asks her bitterly, a vein in his neck bulging.

Melanie blushes. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I—”

“Don’t you know we’ve been inundated with that kind of bullshit since Cara died?” he says, spitting out every word.

“I … I … ” Melanie stammers.

“Brilliant move,” he tells her, his acrid sarcasm sending a shiver up my spine. “Jamie had just started to relax, just started to cut himself a little slack, and now … ”

“Now
what
?” I ask in a tight voice. “All Melanie did was show him a couple of notes that mentioned him by name. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Melanie bites a lip to steady her quivering chin as her eyes fill with tears.

Blake’s dart from her face to mine, then back again. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Melanie.”

A tense moment hangs in the air, then he faces me to repeat, “I’m sorry.” I try to hold his gaze, my head cocked defiantly, but his eyes fall.

Melanie twists her fingers together on the table for a moment, then she bolts, too, heading for the women’s restroom. I watch her wipe tears from her eyes en route.

My eyes narrow. “Why did you talk to her like that?”

Blake tosses a hand in the air. “I’m
sorry
.”

“You sounded like a bully,” I say.

He finally looks me in the eye. “I am so sorry, babe. Really, I am. It’s just … I’m just really protective of Jamie, that’s all. You
see
how he reacted.”

“Yeah, well, those notes shook Melanie up too. What was she
supposed
to do with them?”

He nods earnestly. “You’re right, you’re right. I feel awful. I’ll make it up to her, I promise. Please don’t hate me for this, baby. It’s just … it’s like a reflex. When people I care about get hurt, I kinda … lash out. Just with my mouth, of course. I say things I don’t mean. I’ve just been so worried about Jamie lately, and the way people have been judging us … ”

I study his face. “I haven’t noticed anyone judging you. It seems to me like everyone’s gone out of their way to be kind.”

“Oh, you mean like Natalie at the bonfire the other night?” he shoots back, riding a fresh wave of indignation.

“She was awful to
me
,” I remind him. “And okay, maybe she said a couple of nasty things to Jamie too, but only because she’s so hung up on you. But other than that … ”

Blake laughs ruefully. “You have no idea what we’ve been through.”

I lean in closer. “Then tell me.”

He squeezes his eyes together, then peers at me intently. “It’s been crazy. Jamie and I … we’ve gotten death threats, hate mail … you just don’t get how evil people can be when they blame you for some horrible accident.”

“I haven’t heard the first word about anybody blaming you—”

“Then you haven’t been living my life!”

His eyes melt when he sees me cower. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! See, this is what I’ve been trying to shield you from. The people at our school—they’re okay, most of them, anyway. But the people from
Cara’s
school—they’ve been ruthless. Those notes Melanie got? Those are just one more twist of the knife. I don’t think Jamie can take much more. That’s why he’s been so weird lately. That’s why I reacted like such a maniac when Melanie told us about the notes. I don’t want this terrible tragedy to end up ruining Jamie’s life.” He chokes up a little. “He’s my best friend.”

I reach out to touch his arm as Jamie and Melanie walk back to our booth, clinging shakily to each other’s hands.

Blake jumps to his feet. “Melanie, I’m
so sorry
,” he gushes. “I was totally out of line. You just … you caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Everyone settles back into their seats, Jamie averting his eyes. Melanie clears her throat and smooths her hair.

“I was explaining to Anne—not that it excuses my behavior—but I was explaining how Jamie and I have gotten all kinds of nasty notes, phone calls, death threats—you name it—we’ve just been harassed to death since Cara died. It’s the people at her school. I guess they just can’t accept that she’s gone, and Jamie and I are the ones who couldn’t save her. I can take it; hell, I don’t even
blame
the haters. They cared about Cara. I totally respect them for that.”

He pauses, staring at his hands folded on the table. “Besides, they’re not the only ones who blame me; god knows I blame myself. If only they knew they couldn’t possibly beat me up as much as I beat up myself.”

Jamie’s glaring at him again.

“I had no idea,” Melanie says. “I’m sorry. If I’d known … ”

“
I’m
sorry,” Blake repeats. “We didn’t
want
you to know. I guess that’s another reason I’m so upset … these assholes dragging you beautiful, innocent girls into this mess—”

“Cut it out, Blake,” Jamie mutters curtly.

Blake shakes his head briskly. “What do you mean?”

Jamie glances at him. “I mean cool it. Shut the hell up.” His voice is a chilling monotone.

Melanie and I gasp a little, as if all the oxygen has suddenly been sucked from the room. Jamie’s words were so quiet, yet so … charged. I guess I have to take people’s word for it that he used to idolize Blake. He clearly doesn’t anymore.

Now Blake is glaring at
him
. But when he notices Melanie and me looking at him, his face softens. “You’re right, bro,” he tells Jamie in a conciliatory tone. “I don’t want to pull these girls into this mess any more than you do. I just had to explain why I reacted the way I did. I won’t bring it up again. This is
our
cross to bear … right?”

They exchange another charged glance, Jamie’s expression dripping with contempt.

“So,” Blake says, breaking the tension by clapping his hands together. “Change of subject.”

We exchange anxious glances, but Melanie looks suddenly emboldened and sits up straight.

“Just one thing,” she says.

Oh god …

“Yeah?” Blake says genially.

She ponders her thoughts for a moment, then says, “These notes are specifically about Jamie. Why would that be?”

“And then after the second note, Melanie thought we had to tell the guys, and that’s when everything blew up, and—”

“Breathe, E, breathe,” Sawyer tells me.

I called him as soon as Blake dropped me off, and I’ve never been so relieved to hear his voice. The voice of familiarity. The voice of sanity. The voice of simplicity. The voice of my blissfully uncomplicated past.

I insisted that Blake drop me off first after our date, telling him I didn’t feel well. I was eager to escape the tension that never quite dissipated and wanted to avoid time alone with him. I’m not really sure why—yes, he was a jerk to Melanie, but he apologized, and he explained what he and Jamie have been going through. I had no idea about all that; I feel terrible for them, and I guess it adds context to the notes.

But I still can’t shake my feeling of unease … the jarring antagonism between Blake and Jamie, the ongoing angst of finding myself somehow embroiled in some poor girl’s death, Blake’s sudden flash of anger when Melanie mentioned the notes … I care about Blake, I really do. I might even be falling in love with him, like he said he’s falling in love with me. Maybe that’s why I can’t loosen the knot in my stomach; maybe I’m scared of falling in love, so I’m looking for flaws. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know …

After I catch my breath, I finish getting Sawbones up to speed on the past few drama-filled days of my life. I tell him about Blake’s reaction to the notes and his explanation, and then our mutual agreement that, even though we can’t quite figure out why Jamie is being singled out, Natalie is the most likely culprit.

“Well,” I qualify to Sawbones, “Blake and Melanie and I agree.”

“Hmmm,” he says. “So this Jamie guy doesn’t think it’s her?”

I shrug. “I dunno … he won’t really say. Plus, people from Cara’s school are apparently sending hate mail too, so I guess there are countless possibilities. But whenever we talk about it, Jamie just kinda sits there with his head hanging. It’s all so upsetting to him.”

“Why don’t you and Blake ever hang out by yourselves?”

Okay,
that
was a total non sequitur. “What?”

“Don’t get defensive; I’m just wondering why you two aren’t ever really alone together.”

“Jamie’s his best friend,” I say, trying to conceal the edge in my voice. Why does Sawbones make me feel so self-conscious about my relationship with Blake?

“Yeah, they sound like they have barrels of fun together,” Sawbones says. “Do you think maybe Blake is secretly gay?”

My jaw drops and I squeeze my eyes shut. “
What?
”

“Again,
don’t get defensive
, but I can’t help getting the feeling that he seems to be using you as some kind of … cover.”

I search for words, then simply say in as non-defensive a tone as I can muster, “Blake is not gay.”

“Mmmm,” Sawbones says, clearly unconvinced. “It would explain a couple of things.”

“Such as … ?”

“The vibe you describe between Blake and Jamie … sexual tension, maybe? And it would explain why somebody is trying to warn your girlfriend to stay away from Jamie.”

I’m too flabbergasted to speak. “That is … that is … ”

“Logical?” Sawbones suggests.

I sputter a bit longer, then say, “Blake and I have had plenty of alone time.”

Sawbones thinks about this, then asks, “You’ve had sex?”

“No!” I say. “God, what do you think of me? I’ve only known him a couple of weeks.”

“Kind of my point … ”

“
And yet
… and yet I’m very clear he’s not gay. In fact, he’s invited me to have Sunday dinner with his family tomorrow.
Without
his best friend, for the record.”

Should I tell Sawbones that Blake is falling in love with me? Of course not. He’ll just repeat my own words back to me: I’ve only known him a couple of weeks.

Still, I can tell that Blake’s feelings are real. I can tell his kisses are real. Can’t I?

I suddenly stun myself by feeling tears springing to my eyes. I hastily swallow the lump in my throat.

“E … ?” Sawbones ventures warily.

I make some kind of mumbling sound.

“E, are you crying?”

I roll my eyes. “No, moron,” I say, my voice a little stronger than before.

He pauses, then says, “Okay. Look, Ann-with-an-E: I’ve never so much as laid eyes on this guy. I don’t have any answers, and I certainly don’t want to hurt the feelings of the girl I adore more than any other person on earth. Just know I want the best for you. And know that the only reason I have questions and suspicions is because … ”

“Is because why?”

“Is because
you
have questions and suspicions. Including, I’m guessing, the suspicion neither of us wants to say out loud.”

My pulse quickens and I grip the phone tighter. “What?” I ask in a small voice.