Lessons from a Dead Girl(22)

“Leah? It’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” she says. But her voice sounds different. “God, Lainey. You’re so gullible. I’m glad you give a shit, though — I really am. I could use a friend like you at my new school. But, Laine, we’ve both moved on, you know?”

This time, I’m the one who doesn’t say anything. Is this really it? Is Leah letting me go for good?

“Yeah. Um, OK,” I finally say. “Sorry to bother you. I’m glad it was only a rumor.”

“Thanks, Lainey. Hey, have a good life.”

She hangs up before I can say good-bye for real.

I don’t know how many times I’ve wished I’d never met Leah Greene. I don’t know how many times I was sure I hated her.

I should be thrilled to be set free at last.

So why do I feel so empty?





For months after I talk to Leah, I have the same dream about her. She’s in a black sports car with a faceless man. She lifts her arm to wave good-bye. As she does, blood starts to gush out of a slit in her wrist. She’s crying. I try to open the door to let her out, but the car is moving, pulling away from me, down a black dirt road. Leah keeps waving at me. And now I can’t tell if she’s waving good-bye or gesturing for me to come after her. The blood starts to cover the window until I can’t see her face. I run after them, but the car disappears. Then I wake up, sweating. Feeling sure the rumors were true.

One day I’m home sick from school with a bad cold. I’m lying curled up in a ball on the couch with my favorite old quilt wrapped around me, watching old Real World episodes, when the doorbell rings. I waddle to the door, still wrapped in my quilt. I assume it’s my mother coming home from work to check on me. She’s always coming to the door with her hands full, pressing on the doorbell with her elbow so someone can come help her. I swing open the door without looking to see who it is first.

Standing there in a shiny sweat suit that looks brand-new, and certainly hasn’t been sweated in, is Mrs. Greene.

“Oh, Laine!” she exclaims when she sees me. “This is grand!”

“Hi, Mrs. Greene,” I manage to say to her heavily made-up face.

“Are you under the weather or something, Laine? I didn’t expect to see you.”

I nod.

“Oh, I’m sorry. But I’m glad, too. Not that you’re sick, I mean. But that you’re here. I’ve been meaning to bring this to you for weeks. But, you know, things get busy. I’ve been carrying it around in my purse for days, and today I finally remembered to do something about it.” She’s made her way inside, closing the door behind her.

It occurs to me that we’ve probably never been alone together before, and it feels a little odd.

Mrs. Greene rummages through her large black patent-leather purse.

“Ah,” she says. “Here it is.”

Before I have time to guess what it could be, out comes the nesting doll that Sam gave me all those years ago. As soon as I see it, I can almost smell that night: the candles, the food, the wood polish on the floor.

“It’s your nesting doll, Laine! Remember?”

“Yes.” But I don’t hold my hand out. I just look at the doll sitting quietly among Mrs. Greene’s perfectly manicured fingers.

We’re still standing in the hallway. My head feels like it has doubled in size, and I can’t close my mouth because I have to breathe through it.

“You must have left her at the house, Laine. And then forgotten about her? Anyway, when I was reorganizing some of Leah’s and Brooke’s things, there she was. And I thought, well, that was Laine’s doll! Leah tried to tell me that you gave it to her, but I know Leah. Sam meant for you to have it.”

She presses the doll into my hand.

“Thanks,” I say. I try to imagine Leah being caught in a lie, but I just can’t do it. Leah is the best liar ever. She told me once it was OK to lie as long as you asked God to forgive you right away afterward. Sometimes I thought I knew when she was lying because she’d pause for a minute and I thought maybe she was saying a quick, silent prayer.

“It’s a shame you two aren’t friends anymore. But I guess you grew apart. That always happens in high school, when you take different classes and things.”

I nod, feeling the line across the doll’s middle with my finger.

“My goodness were you two inseparable! Remember, Lainey?”

“How does Leah like her new school?” I ask. I look up at Mrs. Greene to show her I really do want to know.

Her face is grayish, her makeup cakey. She seems older than I remember.

“Oh, well, Leah’s a little too big for her britches these days. Says she wants to quit school because she isn’t learning anything. Ah, Laine, I never should have started her in kindergarten a year late. But I wasn’t ready to let go of her! I think she hated being almost a year older than all her classmates, though. I think it was hard on her, even though she was always such a good student. But she developed so early, anyway, and then — well, you know. Leah has always looked a lot older than she is. When we took her out for her thirteenth birthday, the waiter thought she was eighteen! He couldn’t take his eyes off her.”

She says the last bit proudly. I see Sam dancing with Leah and Brooke in the living room, watching their bodies, while Mr. and Mrs. Greene smile proudly. I feel ill. I want to hurl the doll across the room.