Lessons from a Dead Girl

We only hate what we don't understand.

I have this friend, Jake," Mr. Mitchell says, sitting on the edge of his desk. "One day, I needed a favor. It wasn't a big favor, but I called him and told him I needed something. Know what he said?" We shake our heads. "He said, 'Sure.' Before he eve knew what i was going to ask him. You know why?" We shake our heads again. "Because he trusted me not to ask him to do something he couldn't or wouldn't want to do. He knew that whatever i asked for, he would help me simply because he was my friend and I needed help. That's true friendship.

What happens when you finally decide to tell the truth and no one listens?

I want to be happy. To finally just let the past slip away into the night.

In the distance, I see Web and Jess leaning against Web’s car. When they see me coming, they wave, as if I wouldn’t be able to find them in the nearly empty lot. I wave back, smiling for the first time I can remember. And then, instead of walking back to them, I start to run.

I nod to say good-bye, and I almost believe she’s nodding back at me. But she’s not. It’s me nodding. Me nodding to her, and to myself. When I stand, I see the shape of my legs reflected in the stone. I step backward. Backward. Backward until I can’t see my image there anymore. Then I turn and walk away.

And where would I be, that plain, quiet girl Leah was always dragging along? I’d be up at the front, where everyone could see me. I would stand at the altar above Leah’s shiny coffin and deliver the eulogy. I would tell the truth about Leah Greene. I would say she was my troubled friend. I would admit that I let her down. I would explain that, in many ways, we let each other down. But I would say that I forgive her. And while I spoke, I’d feel her watching and listening, trying to decide if she forgives me, too.

I lean against the hard back of the tub and close my eyes. I see flashes of Leah. Hear fragments of her voice. Remember, Lainey? Remember when we used to mess around? First I did something to you, then you had to do it to me.You liked it. You know you did. Tears slip down my cheeks and along my neck. I sink under the water to wash them away. Under here, the quiet echo of the water moving makes me feel like I’m in another world. Alone. But I have to come up for air.

I get up slowly, quietly, and creep to the bathroom. I turn the water on full and step in without waiting for the hot to kick in. The tub is cold against my skin. I reach for the soap and a washcloth and rub myself all over. Hard. I scrub and scrub until the water warms up and rises over my ankles, my shins, my knees. I scrub until my skin feels raw and the water is so hot it stings against my skin.

Leah used me. She picked me because somehow she knew I would keep her secrets. Somehow she knew I would do whatever she wanted. She knew I wouldn’t stop her. Somehow she knew… . She knew part of me would like it.

The hard floor makes my head ache more than it did before, but I don’t get up. I don’t move. I feel all the ugliness and shame I’ve bottled up pour over me and cover me like a blanket.

I turn my back to Jess while we both get dressed. I’m sweating. Please don’t let me have any weird feelings. Please don’t let her look at me. Please don’t let her be like Leah.

I try to remind myself of all the mean things she’s done to me, but in the end it doesn’t matter. With Leah, it never did. Even from the very beginning. No matter how much she hurt me, I always came back. All she had to do was reach for my hand and pull.

I’ve never felt this ugly or embarrassed — this dirty — in my life. I hate the way I feel. I hate it. I’m a pervert. Why else would my body feel that way when I looked at those pictures?