Liars and Losers Like Us(34)

Really Mom?! I said I would call—FOR SURE TMRW!

Send.

As soon as I step into the office, I’m confused. My mom is standing in front of the main desk, still dressed in her work clothes.

“Mom. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I start to feel jittery.

“I don’t think so.” She glances down to her gray leather pumps. “Not really.”

I get a sick stab in my gut and bubbles of fear burst upward. I gasp. “Is it Dad? Is he okay—is everything okay with Dad? He’s okay, right?”

She hugs my shoulder with her arm. “Honey, calm down.”

“You two can step back into Ms. Selinski’s office now,” says the school secretary, waving us toward the back of the office.

My body stiffens and refuses to move. “Mom. Tell me right now. What’s going on?”

“I promise. Your dad’s fine. It’s … well, let’s just get in here and sit down.” Her tone is low, somber, and offers no reassurance.

As we settle into our chairs, Ms. Selinski shuffles papers beneath a strained smile as I run through every person I care about in my head. Then, I tick through each class and my grades. Not failing anything. Maybe Nord thought my Howl poem had too many f*cks and was a cry for help. Actually, I doubt Nord would care about swearing in an assignment. It still might be Dad. I wish I’d called him this past weekend, like I’d originally sort of planned. My right knee bobs up and down in short, sharp jolts.

“Bree, hello?” My mom grips my shoulder. “Honey, relax. Listen.”

“Bree, are you okay?” asks Ms. Selinski.

“Yes,” I say evenly, “I’m okay. Just tell me why I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry to be delivering this news, but I wanted you to know that one of your classmates has passed away.”

I take a deep breath, press my hand on my knee and beg my heart to slow down. I hate this feeling. The speeding heartbeat and the blur that rushes in and out of my head and past my eyes. My breaths are too short. Just gotta breathe. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine … ten.

Ms. Selinksi runs her hand back and forth over her chin. “It was Maisey Morgan.”

“What?” I ask.

“She took her own life. I’m sorry. Were you, um, close or friendly with her?” Ms. S. asks.

“No, I mean, what?” My face crinkles. “Maisey? Are you sure? She was just here the other day. Wait. But is she okay?” I stutter.

My mom’s hand clenches my knee. “No babe, she’s not okay. Ms. Selinski is asking if you knew her.”

I stare at my lap. My jeans are dark blue. They look clean. They’re one of my more expensive pairs. I don’t want them to fade so I rarely wash them. I probably haven’t washed them in three months. I bought them with my first paycheck over the summer. I wonder if I’ll work all the time now, and not just summers, now that school’s almost over.

“Bree?” Mom’s hand is patting my knee again.

I shake my head. “Friends? No, we weren’t. I’ve talked to her once or twice. Well, I guess we’re … acquaintances? Why?”

“I know this is hard, but her parents wanted me to ask. She left a few good-bye letters, one for her parents, and a couple others for her friends. One has your name on it but her parents didn’t know who you were. Did she ever say anything to you, about wanting to hurt herself?”

“About being suicidal? No.” I’m pretty sure she told me I was an * and called it a day. I add, “I know she didn’t have the easiest time at school, but I mean, I didn’t think it was that bad. That doesn’t sound right. I guess I mean, no. No. She never said anything like that. Do her parents think it’s because of me?”

“Oh, honey, no, not at all. They’re just trying to make sense of something that will probably never make sense.” Ms. Selinski says.

Things get blurrier. There’s a whooshing whurr in my head that sounds like the roar of the cafeteria at lunchtime. And then I’m pushed into the feeling I get when giving a presentation in front of a class. The feeling that I’m not really here.

My mom sniffs and wipes tears from her eyes. “Thank you so much for being here for Bree and letting us know. This is awful and so devastating for everyone. Her parents. No one is supposed to lose a child, especially like this.”

Like this. Thoughts pound through my head, invading like quick flashes of light. Why? Was she scared? Where were her friends? How’d she do it? Did it hurt? Did her parents find her?

Ms. Selinski looks at me, softening her eyes. “Here’s her parents’ address.” She hands Mom a yellow Post-it. “They have the letter. I’m sure it’s all really confusing. But Bree, whenever you’re ready, they’d really like you to have it. I’m really sorry. This is a big loss for all of us. Friends, acquaintances, everyone.”

Everyone? I can picture Jane up against her locker, screaming at Maisey’s back whenever she’d walk by, “Eek, you guys! I just saw a mouse. Somebody kill it!”

“We’re going to miss her.”

Even the kids that used to sing Maisey Mouse to her in the hallways? The song ribbons through my brain and I can’t stop it before it sashays around in my head. Almost taunting me. C’mon everybody, on one, two, one two three … M-A-I-S-E-Y M-O-U-S-E.