Lessons from a Dead Girl(19)

“I’m trying to study,” Christi says. “What are you doing?” I can tell she’s trying to sound authoritative, but she isn’t really pulling it off.

“If you’re the babysitter, maybe you could make me something to eat?” Leah takes a long drink from the glass.

“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge,” Christi says. “Didn’t Laine tell you?”

“Why don’t you like me, Christi? You’ve never liked me, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I make you nervous, don’t I? Just like I make Lainey nervous. Why do I make everyone so f*cking nervous?” Leah walks closer to us as she speaks, keeping her hand behind her back. Her lips are wet and shiny. Her cheeks are pink. She smiles as she walks toward us, swaying a little, then takes another drink.

“How much have you had, Leah?” I ask.

“Get over it, Laine. God, you’re such a prude.” She smiles, though. “Or at least you’d like to be, wouldn’t you?” She looks at Christi, then winks at me.

I move closer to Christi.

Leah stops in front of us.

“What do you want?” Christi asks.

“I want you to make me something to eat.” Slowly, Leah starts to bring her hand from around her back, still hiding whatever she’s holding. She smiles mischievously. The ice cubes in her glass clink.

“Fine.” Christi moves past us and starts down the hall. Leah follows her. That’s when I see what she’s holding behind her back. It’s a tiny paring knife that she must have used to cut the lime for her drink.

“Leah!” I yell before I can even think what she’s doing.

Christi stops at the top of the stairs and turns around. “What is it?” she asks.

Leah stands between us, still facing Christi. “Oh, this?” she asks, showing Christi the knife.

“What the hell is that for?” Christi asks.

“What do you think it’s for?” Leah says. She touches the tip of the knife to the inside of her arm, slowly running it down to her wrist. The now half-empty glass spills a bit as she does it.

“Jesus!” Christi yells.

“Relax,” Leah says, taking the blade away so we can see a speck of blood form a tiny bubble at her wrist. She smiles at us.

“God, Leah. Put it down or give it to me,” Christi says. “It’s not funny.”


“You want it, Christi? Or do you want some of this?” Leah holds out her glass to Christi. Christi reaches for the glass, but Leah quickly pulls it away and chugs the rest of it. “Sorry, you’ll have to make your own. I’m sure you wouldn’t want something I put my mouth on, anyway.”

“Give me the knife, Leah,” Christi says. “You’re drunk. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“C’mon, Leah,” I try, finally finding my voice again. “This is dumb.”

“Like you care,” she says. She touches the blade to her wrist again, spilling a remaining ice cube on the floor.

“I — I do care, Leah. What the hell?”

“Put the knife down. Now,” Christi says, stepping toward her.

Leah keeps the knife pressed to her wrist.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“Would you really care, Laine? Would you care if I did it? Or would you be relieved?” She runs the knife across her wrist again, leaving a tiny red line.

Without thinking, I step forward and snatch it out of her hand.

“I’m calling Mom and Dad,” Christi says.

“Oh, please.” Leah rolls her eyes. “It was only a joke. You don’t think I’d really do it, do you?” She starts to head down the stairs as if nothing has happened.

“You passed the test, Laine!” she calls back over her shoulder. “I guess you still f*cking care after all.”

“What a psycho,” Christi says. She walks back to her room and slams the door, leaving me standing in the hallway alone. I look down at the small knife in my hand. It has blood on it. Mine.

I don’t know why, but I don’t want Christi to see, so I go to the downstairs bathroom. Leah is there, fixing her hair. I ignore her and open the cabinet to find a bandage.

“Oh, f*ck!” she says when she sees my hand. “Are you OK?”

“Do you care?” I ask.

A car horn in the driveway interrupts my cold stare.

“Oh, shit,” Leah says. “I’ve gotta go. I’m really sorry, all right? It was only a joke. Seriously, are you OK?”

Behind the makeup she actually looks concerned. Even scared. Maybe.

The car horn blows again.

“I’ve gotta go,” she says.

She runs through the dining room, grabs her bag, and shuts the door hard behind her.

I creep to the open window and listen through the screen.

“When I honk, you get your ass out here!” a guy’s voice yells. It sounds way older than someone in high school.

I listen for Leah’s response, but I don’t hear anything. The sting in my palm starts to throb as I try to peek out at them.

“Just get in!” the voice shouts. A door shuts. Tires squeal as the car tears out of our driveway.

I go back to the bathroom and finish fixing my hand. Back in my room, I try to stay awake until she gets home, but the next thing I know it’s morning and Leah isn’t here.