Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(19)

“We’ll put on skimpy bathing suits and run down the beach,” I tell her, touching her hand. She clings to my fingers and my hold tightens automatically. “Boys will look at you and want you. Girls will be so jealous of you. We’ll have our cameras, and we’ll take thousands of pictures. We’ll buy corn dogs from the beach vendors, we’ll wear those ridiculous big hats you see in the magazines”—Maggie snorts here—“and maybe we’ll even swim with some dolphins. What the hell.”

My friend sighs, her smile bittersweet now, but real. “I don’t know if it’s these meds they have me on, but you look so strange in the sunlight. Beautiful, really. As if you’re absorbing all the light and it’s shining from you instead of the sky.”

“Could be the meds, or maybe it’s just you,” I tease.

Suddenly Maggie doesn’t want any more jokes. Her mood swings in another direction—the doctors once said her medications would make this happen—and she makes a sound of impatience. “Forget all of this. Fuck it. I’m tired of talking about me. I’m sick of listening to the doctors and the nurses and my parents. Distract me, Liz. Give me all the dirty gossip from school. Or better yet, let’s blow this Popsicle stand! You drove here—let’s go find a party!” Her eyes glitter, and Sorrow fades, swiftly replaced by Desperation. So many Emotions. It’s almost dizzying.

It’s my turn to force a smile, meant to comfort. “Why don’t we just stick to the gossip?” I suggest. Maggie deflates and sinks back against the pillows. Desperation abandons her, already looking for his next victim. “Let’s see … ” I think. “The Dorseth brothers were arrested again. For stealing from Hal’s hardware store, I think. Oh, and I heard Joshua Hayes turned down Sophia Richardson when she asked him to go to the homecoming dance with her.”

“What?” Maggie squeals, struggling to sit up. I put a restraining hand on her shoulder and she leans back again, but her eyes are still wide with glee. “Where did you hear this? Tell me everything.”

For an hour I regale her with stories. Maggie eats it all up, intent, and for a bit I do manage to make her forget. But at some point she begins to lose focus, and more Emotions blur into existence, all touching the sick girl. Envy, Loneliness, Longing. Dark skin, skin pale as my bedroom walls, frizzy hair, sleek hair, dismissal and interest. Maggie half-listens to me now, nodding to keep me talking, but I’d guess she’s thinking of all she’s lost, all she’ll miss, everything she wants and will never have. I focus on this so I don’t give away the presence of all the Emotions.

Finally I glance at the clock on the wall: 5:46. I’ll only be able to stay for a few more minutes. My gaze flicks back to Maggie and traces the outlines of her hollow cheeks, the sprinkling of freckles across her delicate nose. She’s so tiny, a fragile bird that will forever be in the nest and never know what it’s like to spread its wings and feel the wind and the radiance.

I’ve gone quiet. Maggie turns her face to the window. Orange-yellow light spills across her blanket. She closes her eyes, and I watch her long lashes brush against her skin. “Elizabeth,” Maggie says. There is so much put into that one word, my name, that I know she feels enough for the both of us.

“Yes?”

Maggie swallows. “I was thinking … you know I joke about death”—the word makes her cringe—“and I brush it off. Hell, I dress like it.” She sniffs, attempts to harden, but it doesn’t work. Not now. Shuddering, she meets my gaze squarely. She’s decided something. “We’re all pretending, all the time. But now it’s different. I feel different. I think I need to face the fact that I’m going to die, and I need to hear someone say it.”

There’s no going back, and she seems to finally accept it, so I don’t attempt to help her with the pretense anymore. “I know, Maggie.”

She grins weakly. “You do, don’t you? You’ve always seemed to know things. But I wasn’t bothered by it like everyone else. You made me feel … safe. I used to get jealous. You’re so strong, so certain in who you are. I wanted more. I wanted to be beautiful, like Sophia Richardson, popular, loved, perfect. Since that wasn’t possible, I tried to be special by being the school Goth. And look at me now. I’m special now, aren’t I?” Maggie utters a bitter laugh.

“This isn’t—”

“I know. I know, okay? I don’t need to hear the speech again. I didn’t do anything to deserve this, bad things happen, it’s out of our control. I know, I know, I know. But why? Why me, why now? You know so much, Liz, then tell me. Why did this have to happen to me?”

I’ve been expecting this, anticipating this moment. No human can look into the face of death and not cower or panic. But I don’t have any words to calm Maggie, because the answer she’s looking for doesn’t exist. There’s no rhyme or reason for pain and suffering, for those beings that live to distribute it—these things just are. I could give her all the pretty lies, but it won’t hide the truth this time, and there’s no going back to our old ways.

“I’m here,” I tell her, so simple. There’s nothing else. Well, nothing but one more truth. And she’s waiting for me to say it. She needs me to say it. So I do. With all the reality of how empty I am. “You’re going to die, Maggie.”