Lessons from a Dead Girl(15)

It isn’t long before the friendship test becomes a big joke with the boys. You can’t go to lunch or walk down the halls without hearing someone say, “Would you do me a favor?” Leah says they’re just jealous because the girls love Mr. Mitchell. She says she and I are the only ones who really understand what Mr. Mitchell was getting at.

The funny thing is Leah never does ask me for that favor.

About a week after the friendship lesson, we’re in Mr. Mitchell’s class again and Tyler Michelson is complaining about some homework assignment. “I hate algebra,” he says. “Mrs. Gray gives out way too much homework.”

A few other students start in on Mrs. Gray and how unfair she is and how she never explains anything.

Mr. Mitchell tells us to quiet down. “We only hate what we don’t understand,” he says matter-of-factly.

That shuts us all up. A bunch of people start nodding as they seem to go through their secret “I hate” lists and realize he’s right.

Leah smiles at me, not knowing — or maybe I just don’t think so at the time — what I just thought when I saw her face: She has been on my list.

She pats her heart, our sign when someone we have a crush on is near. In this case, Mr. Mitchell. He’s Leah’s idol now and the only person I’ve ever known Leah to openly admire. When he says things like this, she writes it down on her textbook cover with little hearts around it. She doesn’t even care if Mr. Mitchell — or anyone else — sees.

“So what do you hate, Laine?” Leah asks at lunch. We’re sitting at our usual table, with the regular crowd of Leah admirers.

“Only the things I don’t understand,” I say, proud of my cleverness.

“Ooh, deep,” Leah says sarcastically.

“I hate snakes,” Claire Watson says. Poor Claire. She isn’t in Mr. Mitchell’s class, so she doesn’t have a clue what Leah’s getting at.

“Why do you hate snakes, Claire?” Leah asks, showing mock interest.

“I don’t know. They’re creepy,” says Claire, brushing her hair from her eyes. “They slither around and they’re real quiet, so you never know when they’re near you. Once I stepped on one, and I didn’t even know it. I was helping my mom hang clothes on the line, and I thought I was standing on part of the rope —”

“I get it,” Leah interrupts. “Never mind.”

We’re all quiet. Leah doesn’t usually show her moody side to anyone but me. Claire looks like she’s going to cry.

“So, did you guys check out Mr. Mitchell’s shirt today?” Leah asks. “I think it’s new.” Leah always knows when to change the subject.

“It makes his eyes even greener,” I say.

“He’s a god,” Leah breathes.

We spend the rest of lunch talking about Mr. Mitchell. We say our first names with his last, imagining what it would be like to be married to him.

The thing is we all know it’s just a fantasy. He’s way too old for us. All of us except Leah.

“It could happen,” she says to me when we bring our trays up after lunch. “He could wait for me to get a little older. Sam says lots of older men marry younger girls. They wait for them to turn eighteen so it’s legal.”

“Yuck,” I say.

“What?”

“Just — marrying someone so much older.”

Leah shrugs. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She turns away from me like I said something to offend her.

A few days later, we find out that Mr. Mitchell got engaged. An eerie darkness comes over Leah.

It seems like weeks before she snaps out of it. We’re in homeroom, and Mr. Mitchell is taking attendance, like he does every morning. He walks up and down the aisles, saying hi to everyone and making little marks in his red attendance book. As he comes up the aisle behind me, Leah lets out a gasp. I turn around.

“Leah? Something wrong?” Mr. Mitchell asks. He stops at my desk and turns his head back toward Leah.

“No,” she says quietly, looking down at her desk. Her cheeks are bright red. I swear she’s trying not to laugh.

Mr. Mitchell shrugs and walks past me. When he smiles, my heart flip-flops. But as he walks to the front of the room, I notice a piece of toilet paper sticking out of the waist of his jeans.

I turn back to Leah, whose whole body is convulsing in silent laughter. It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh since we found out about the engagement. I try to stifle my own laughter, but it’s too much and I start cracking up. Luckily, we both get under control before Mr. Mitchell makes us tell him what’s so funny.

That seems to be all it takes — a piece of toilet paper — to change Mr. Mitchell from God back to ordinary teacher. After that, Leah never talks about him again.

God or not, I’m still grateful to Mr. Mitchell for the friendship test. Sometimes I still look at my hand and remember the red F.F. Leah marked there all those years earlier. I think about all the things she’s done to me, and I wonder why I’m still friends with her. Maybe that’s what being real friends is all about — putting up with the hard lessons — both taught and learned together.





By the end of freshman year, Leah has definitely moved on from Mr. Mitchell. She still likes older guys, just not quite that old. I catch her checking out the seniors when we walk the halls. She licks her lips and looks down, trying to seem innocent and seductive at the same time. I remember similar looks she gave me in the doll closet. Her face seemed so grown-up. It’s a relief to see her give those looks to boys.