Tease(37)

Didn’t want to live in a world that had me in it.

And I’m still here, in this crappy world. Fighting her ghost.

The thing about having one really good friend, one person you talk to all the time about everything, is that you stop really talking to anyone else. You sort of talk to other people, but mostly you have your one person and that’s enough.

And then one day, maybe for a good reason or maybe out of nowhere, you can’t talk to that friend anymore, and you suddenly realize you can’t talk to anyone else. Like, it’s physically impossible. No one understands you except that person. It’s like you speak another language, and the one other person who also speaks it is gone.

That’s how I feel, walking into Elmwood the day after Labor Day. All the usual changes from summer vacation—Mayla Stotz’s new super-embarrassing haircut, and Wayne Halleck’s growing about five inches in all directions, and Ms. Hillman wearing a giant engagement ring—make me desperate to turn to Brielle and go, Did you see that?

But Brielle isn’t here. I mean, she’s not with me, of course, as I walk carefully to my locker. She must be here somewhere, but I haven’t been able to spot her yet—I was checking for her car in the parking lot, and I look down the hall where her locker is as I pass by, but there’s no sign of her. I figure they made sure we don’t have any classes together, but I have to see her eventually. Or she’ll find me.

Carmichael finds me first, though.

“God, I’ve missed this place,” he says. He leans against the locker next to mine, like we’re totally casual, the oldest of friends. “You know what I mean? If I’m not here every single day of my life, I just feel . . . incomplete.”

I smile at him, but I’m nervous. What do I do when I see Brielle? What if Carmichael is still standing here? Do I pretend I’m annoyed that he’s talking to me?

Because actually, I’m really not. I’m so relieved to have someone to talk to, and I’m not at all annoyed that it’s Carmichael.

On the first day we only have a half hour of each class, just enough to pick up books and get each syllabus and stuff. The fact that it’s a half day is the only reason I’m not already throwing up.

We also have to go to the office to check in, because of summer school. We walk there together, and on the way I can feel people murmuring. I can’t believe my mom wouldn’t let me transfer. Natalie said it wasn’t a good idea, said we should maintain my innocence by not acting guilty, or something. I don’t know. I guess transferring doesn’t always work out—I mean, Emma tried it a bunch of times. But now that the hallways are crowded and the lights are on full blast, I feel like everyone’s looking at me. I feel like I really shouldn’t be here.

I see Alison Stipe walk by and I try to wave or at least catch her eye, but she’s talking to Beth (that’s weird), and they ignore me. Or probably they don’t see me. Probably.

“Hi, Mrs. Gerald!” Carmichael says brightly as we walk into the main office. I glance over at him, surprised.

“Hello,” the head secretary says sourly, obviously well acquainted with Carmichael already. “You need your summer transcripts and schedules.” It’s not a question, and she doesn’t wait for our response before she wheels backward in her chair to a filing cabinet.

Carmichael smiles like he’s totally at ease in here. Which he probably is.

“Braden Carmichael and Sara Wharton,” Mrs. Gerald says, as she wheels back to the desk.

My eyebrows go up even higher, but Carmichael just shakes his head, like he’s heard all the Braden jokes already. Then he goes back to smiling at the secretary and says, “How’d we do?”

“You passed. Here’s your schedules.” She slaps the papers up on the counter, still not getting out of her chair, then wheels back to her computer.

“Congratulations, Braden,” I say quietly. I can’t help it. I must have known his first name at some point in junior high, but I’d totally forgotten it.

He shakes his head again, but he’s still smiling a little.

Mrs. Gerald’s voice cuts through with an oh-so-cheery “Get to class!”

We hurry back out of the office.

The hallway is even more crowded than before, everyone hugging and talking so loudly I can’t hear anything in particular. I scan the faces, but when people look back at me and frown, I look down again. Turning a little toward the wall so I’m not so noticeable, I ask Carmichael, “Do you see Brielle anywhere?”

“No, didn’t you hear?”

I shake my head. Of course I didn’t hear anything. I don’t talk to anyone.

I can feel a pit opening up in my stomach. I sort of forgot: Everyone’s still talking. Without me. Behind my back.

Everyone knows about me, or thinks they know. But at the same time, I’m invisible. I used to be someone at Elmwood—maybe not the most popular girl, but someone you’d talk to in the halls, at least. Someone you’d see at parties. Someone who at least had a stupid Facebook account. And now I’ve disappeared. No one wants to even look at me.

“Brielle’s not coming back,” Carmichael says. “Tutors and stuff.”

I stare at him, too shocked to think. “So she’s not . . .”

He just shrugs.

Tyler, Jacob, and Dylan aren’t here, because they were seniors. They’d have been gone by now anyway. And now Brielle is gone, too.