Little Do We Know(49)

I pictured my room, my books, my laptop, my clothes, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to say good-bye to. And then I pictured my mom. And Luke. And for some reason I couldn’t explain, the view from my bedroom window.

As angry as I was at Hannah, if I were leaving this earth forever, I’d want to say good-bye to her. To the thirty-six steps that separated her window from mine. To seventeen years of memories. I felt the tears prick my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lip to keep them where they belonged as I wrote, Our patch of grass.

No one would know what it meant or why it was important, but I did.

The theater was silent for a good ten minutes as we thought and wrote, until a few people started giggling. Ms. Martin took that as her cue and started collecting our paper scraps.

She called me back to the front of the stage.

“Okay, Emory,” she said. “Let’s do that again.”

I stepped to the edge, looking out at the rows and rows of empty seats, preparing to close my eyes and bring myself back to Grover’s Corners. But before I could, she pivoted me around by the shoulders, turning my back to the auditorium.

“Do it again, Emory, but stand here this time. Face your fellow cast members. Right now, this is your audience.”

I took a long, slow inhale as my eyes fell shut. I blew out a breath. I shook out my hands. And then I opened my eyes.

“Good-bye.”

I looked at Tyler. Then at Charlotte.

“Good-bye, world. Good-bye, Foothill High. Good-bye to…” Ms. Martin handed me a piece of paper and I read it in place of the actual line. “Songs that make me cry.” She handed me the next paper scrap. “And whipped cream. Good-bye to…my mom’s voice.” That one made my breath catch in my throat. I glanced around at my castmates, still seated on the stage and smiling up at me.

“Good-bye to dancing. And the smell after a rainstorm. And chocolate chip cheesecake.” I looked at Tyler, knowing that one was his, and he blew me a kiss. “Good-bye to pepperoni pizza. And my favorite books. Good-bye to making out.” I laughed as I said it, and so did everyone else. “Good-bye to our Christmas ornaments.” I kept going, feeling the weight of all the things my friends and I loved.

When Ms. Martin handed me the last one, I read it to myself first. I had no problem writing it down, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to get it out without choking up. “Good-bye to this stage and to all the people it let me be.”

I glanced around the group, raised my arms to my sides, and delivered Emily Webb’s line: “Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”



As I walked home from school, I thought about those three things I’d written down on those little slips of paper. The things I’d want to say good-bye to.

I pulled out my phone and typed the word Grass?

My finger hovered over the SEND button. But I couldn’t bring myself to press it.





I went straight to my room, changed into my running clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and sat on the edge of my bed, lacing up my shoes. I rushed through my stretches, eager to get on the path. I had far too much to think about.

On the porch, I started my playlist, stuck in my earbuds, and turned the music up loud. I was just about to run down the stairs when something caught my eye. I looked to my left and saw Emory turning the key in her dead bolt. I moved back toward the door and hid behind a potted plant. I peeked my head out.

She was about to walk inside when she stopped. She turned to look at my house. She stared at my bedroom window for a second. And then she glanced over to where I was hiding.

And then she stepped inside and disappeared.

I missed her more in that moment than I had since the day we fought. Without giving myself time to think about it, I reached for my phone and opened a new message. I typed the word Grass? I was about to press the SEND button, but I stopped.

I pictured Luke, sitting in my living room the day before, asking me not to tell Emory he’d been there or that he was coming to church with me on Sunday. I told him his secret was safe with me. But if I saw her, I wouldn’t know how to keep it to myself.

I slipped my phone back in my pocket and took off running in the opposite direction.





I left my room on Sunday morning, eager to get to the coffeepot. Tyler, Charlotte, and I had rehearsed all night, and then stayed out late at the diner.

I’d barely seen Luke all week. Every time I asked to come over, he said he was in too much pain. When I asked if I could stop by and bring him more books or magazines or Mentos, he said he just needed to sleep. Addison said she’d barely seen him either. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d left his room, and every time she went to check on him, he was in bed with the covers pulled over his chest, his laptop open in front of him, and a pair of big squishy headphones over his ears.

“He’s acting super weird,” she’d told me on Thursday.

“He’ll be okay.” I tried to sound reassuring, as if I had a clue what I was talking about. “He’ll be back to school on Monday and then everything will be back to normal. You’ll see.”

And I hoped it was true. I hated how much I missed him. Even worse, I hated how little he seemed to miss me.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mom said as I tipped the coffee into my mug. She and D-bag were sitting at the dining room table with her fat wedding notebook splayed open in front of them.