Chasing William (8 page)

I nod tightly. That was all I had too.
Haven’t I lost enough? Aren’t your friends supposed to be the
people who help you through hard times, not the ones who make them
worse because it’s easier?

“For what it’s worth,” Pru says with another
deep sigh “she shouldn’t have done some of the things she did.
Especially the blog thing. That was just cruel. You didn’t deserve
that.”

“What blog?”

“Oh, um,” Pru’s face goes white and she
drops my gaze. “Here.” She practically throws my Christmas present
at my feet and flees. She’s not actually running, but she’s walking
fast enough I know she doesn’t want me to try and catch her.
Probably wouldn’t answer my questions if I did.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Prudence,” I
mutter under my breath. So Amanda did something else she thought
I’d never find out about. Not really a surprise. Whatever it is,
I’m sure it’s bad. I don’t have to read it to know that. Something
about the Internet brings out the worst in people. I guess it’s the
no-accountability factor or not having to look someone in the face
when you tear them down for no reason. Sometimes it feels like the
Internet is dehumanizing people, making it easier for all of us to
let some evil out. No wonder so many kids commit suicide over
social networks. I wonder if that’s what Amanda was hoping I’d do.
I never thought she hated me that much, but give someone a keyboard
and you never know what they’ll do. I’ve said some things I’m
ashamed of to people I’ve never met.

I have a sick fascination with finding out
what Amanda wrote and I speed through the day as quickly as I can
get away with. It won’t be safe to check on the school computers in
case Amanda notices, or in case I try to kill her in a fit of
insanity. It’ll be safer to be in a position where I’ll have to
wait until tomorrow to do anything in revenge.

I go straight to my room when I get home and
toss my Christmas present from Pru on the floor. I don’t care what
it is. Pru is a coward. If she really cared she wouldn’t leave me
all alone. It is easy to find Amanda’s blog, especially since she
put a link to it on her profile page. I guess she assumed I’d never
bother to check. You know what they say when you assume… that’s
another one of my favorite one-liners. Most of the stuff posted the
past few days is about Jake. Almost everything is about Jake. The
background is a collage of pictures of the two of them. He comments
on everything too. It’s a little disgusting. I loved William with
all my heart, but I never would have done something like this and
neither would he. We just weren’t that kind of a couple. Maybe it’s
just all the anger bubbling over, but I really hope Amanda and Jake
break up. Not a happy, mutual break-up either, but one of those
ridiculous public fight break-ups. I might be a little too mean
with that one, but I’m feeling too worked up to listen to my
conscience.

Finally, I find it. It’s buried in the
archives from several weeks ago, but I know it has to be what Pru
was talking about. At least I hope it is, because if it’s not I
don’t think I can handle anything worse. It’s written using this
obnoxious lime green font color too that somehow makes it all
worse. It’s like she’s talking in this chipper, condescending voice
and just begging for me to find it. It’s also been spell checked,
everything’s grammatically correct, no lol’s or angry emoticons,
like she was writing it to turn in somewhere. I could have handled
all caps and exclamation points, because then I’d know she was just
emotional. But this -- this was thought-out , word processed, and
double checked. Hell, she probably had several drafts typed and
saved somewhere on her computer. She meant this.

I’m not sure how to respond. I almost hope
my heart gives out from the shock so I don’t have to finish it. I
pull up William’s profile and copy the last paragraph to send to
him. I hope he can help me make sense of it using whatever
celestial powers he’s gained from being dead instead of here. I
curl up in my desk chair, pull my knees to my chest, and cry. Other
than that I’m not sure how to respond. I can’t even write another
message to William to try and sound things out. I just don’t want
to be here anymore. I wish I could transport myself to Minnesota
using sheer willpower. I can’t go back to school. I can’t sit there
and let Amanda keep living her blissfully devious little bitch life
without doing something about it. I can’t take the risk she might
actually say some of those things to my face.

I fall asleep in my desk chair with my head
on my knees.

To:
William Davis

Message:
From Amanda’s Blog: “I’ve
never seen someone use death so selfishly, I mean, her little
addict must have overdosed at just the most convenient time for
her. Everyone who knew her didn’t want to know her anymore. I was
getting ready to organize everyone to say it to her face. No less
than she deserves. But she comes in all teary-eyed, talking about
how he’s dead and she’s upset and can’t believe it and oh, how she
loved him. All bullshit, of course. God knows her little black
heart doesn’t love anyone but herself. Of course, everyone buys it
and she gets a free pass. I bet she pushed him to take too much.
She probably wanted him to die so she could get all the attention.
If you ask me, the wrong person died.”

“
Sometimes running away and
escape are the same thing.”

I manage to get the rest of the week off
sick. I won’t say I pretended to be sick because Amanda’s little
blog post actually did make me physically ill, but it wasn’t like I
was out with the flu. I try to pretend I got really upset about
William again, but I leave the blog up on my computer and I’m
pretty sure my mom reads it while I am hiding under the covers. She
doesn’t try to talk about it with me, not that I look up to talking
about anything but the weather.

I know I have to get out of bed for the last
day of the semester, though. Not only do I have a lot of last day
“tests” (so-called because we seniors are exempt from “exams”
during exam week) but I have to see what it’s going to be like now
that I’ve read…”it”. I also know my parents won’t be too keen on
letting me drive myself nine hours north when I’ve missed multiple
days of school. If I make it through today, I’ll be free to follow
my ghost and get as far away from Amanda (and the rest of my
problems) as I possibly can. I know the old “your problems will be
waiting for you when you get back” line, but I’m okay with that.
Whatever’s waiting for me in Minnesota, it’ll help me get through
everything else when I get back. It’s possible I’m setting myself
up for failure, and I know that, but I’d rather go out fighting
than give up now.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright
now?”

“Yeah.” My mom looks worried in a way I’ve
never seen her look before. “Besides, I can’t afford to miss all
the tests and deadlines. I just want to get everything done before
my trip. I’ve got enough to worry about.”

“You’re sure you want to go on that trip
alone? What happens if you get sick and there’s nothing we can do
and no one to take care of you? I could come with you. I don’t
mind.”

“Mom…” Now she’s heading into a little more
normal mom territory. I can handle normal worried mom. “I’ll be
fine. I have my cell phone, I’ll be staying with family, and I’m
pretty sure the best thing for my health is a change in
scenery.”

“Well, do you want me to drive you to school
today? In case you decide you’d rather stay home? Then you don’t
have to drive back alone.”

“Sure, Mom.” I know she won’t give up until
I say yes, and it actually might be nice to not be alone with my
thoughts just yet. “But I have to get ready.” I manage a weak smile
and my mom nods and walks out of my room, probably to wait by the
door and make sure I don’t leave without her. I guess it’s nice to
know someone still care, although our parents have to love us, so
it doesn’t mean too much. I throw on the first outfit I can find
that seems clean and get ready to go. I’m not really concerned with
how I look. I have no one to look good for and people have gotten
used to seeing me a mess. I try to clean myself up for work, but
even then I don’t think I’ve put on make-up since William’s
funeral. I wanted to look good for him one last time. Lucky for me
I look good in black, or at least I think I do. I can’t wear black
anymore, though. I guess that’ll probably pass with time, too. It’s
just hard to be reminded of certain things.

I step on Pru’s gift as I start to walk out
the door. I’d forgotten about it with all the Amanda stuff going
on. I wish Pru hadn’t told me about the blog. I know that wouldn’t
change the fact it was there, but sometimes we aren’t supposed to
know what people really think about us. That’s why we have all
these rules about conversation and politeness. We aren’t supposed
to know every thought someone has about us. It might make us guess
a lot or spend hours worrying, but at least it keep us mostly sane.
If Amanda hadn’t typed up that post she probably still would have
thought it, but at least I wouldn’t know. I don’t really care what
Pru got me, but the child inside me can’t leave a present unopened
if it has my name on it, so I pick it up with low expectations.

She’s wrapped it in about five layers of
tissue paper, but I can tell it’s some kind of picture frame. It
takes awhile to open (Pru didn’t skimp on tape)but it takes my
breath away when I finally get it uncovered. It’s a picture of me
and William, taken at a dance freshman year. I’m not sure how she
got it. Even I didn’t have any real pictures of the two of us.
Everything was on the computer. She’d had this printed on real
photo paper, framed in a plain silver frame, nothing tacky or
“Christmas” themed. It was a real gift. She’d stuck a post-it note
on the back with her own type of confession:

I’m so sorry for your loss. I know he loved
you. I wish I could be a better friend. Hope this helps
–Prudence.

I want to be touched, but she is taking the
coward’s way out. She knows what she could do to be a better friend
and she refused.

Looking at the picture has a strange effect
on me. William is so alive! His eyes are bright and looking at me,
his face is smiling, and I remember we were happy. He hadn’t been
doing the thing that killed him (or what they claimed killed him)
back then. Things were starting to get bad, but neither of us
thought it would end in him going to ‘“That Place”’ – or that he
wouldn’t have a future to make up for his past.

I have everything wrong again. Big surprise.
This thing with Amanda, whatever it is(I can’t really call it a
fight because there isn’t a real issue that caused it. It just
is)
had gotten my perspective out of focus. A petty fight
isn’t worth focusing your life on, no matter how much of a bitch
Amanda is acting like. She doesn’t realize that whatever she thinks
I’ve done to her is taking over her whole world and the more
miserable I am the more she thinks she’s winning. The more she wins
the more Amanda wants to play. The more I think about it, the
simpler it all seems. I’ve never be able to make Amanda see reason.
She has to grow up on her own. I can take myself out of the game.
If I stop responding the way she wants me to, Amanda will no longer
have control, and knowing her, she’d rather quit than lose. All I
have to do is pretend to be happy, treat Amanda like nothing had
ever happened. That is how I will respond to her blog post, to how
she’s been treating me. I’ll act like nothing is wrong. I’ll
pretend I am happy. Maybe if I pretend for long enough, things will
actually start getting better. This thing with Amanda though, is
all just the beginning. I’ll have plenty of time to come up with a
strategy later. Today will start the foundation, but after that
everything will be about William. He will be my priority for the
next week. Him and me, figuring out why life stopped making
sense.

“Christine? Are you feeling alright? I can
call school if you need another personal day!”

I don’t have a real plan but I know where to
start. I run downstairs to meet my mom. I can’t wait for Minnesota.
Things are going to start happening. They have to.

Amanda doesn’t give me much of a chance to
try out my new strategy. She avoids me most of the day. I think Pru
may have told her I found out about the blog, and she doesn’t want
to be forced to own up to it now that I am finally back. At least
that shows a little conscience on her part. If she doesn’t want to
be called out on it, she knows it was wrong, and that people won’t
be able to take her side after something like that. It will all
have to come out eventually. We have English together and there is
no way Amanda can get out of seeing me at least once.

Miss R. has the room decorated for the
holidays with snowflakes on the windows and candy canes taped to
the wall. She must have just decorated for the week because I can’t
remember anything being up before my mental health break. I haven’t
even started thinking about Christmas. I mean, that’s why we were
getting the break, but I haven’t had time to think about the actual
holidays. I guess that is something else to go on my post-Minnesota
list.

Amanda walks in right as Miss R. starts to
hand out our tests. Amanda looks at me, then quickly looks at her
desk. I’m not going to let her get off that easy. She’s going to
have to acknowledge my existence a little better than that.

“Alright, here’s your last test of the
semester. Test, of course, because seniors don’t have exams. But
you all better have studied, because this test is worth the same as
if you did have an exam. Get it? Good. It’s hard, but because I’m
supposed to be preparing you for college I don’t feel bad. I will
give you a little perk, though. After you finish, since this is
your last class of the day, you can just leave instead of waiting
for the bell. My gift to you all.”