LONG GONE
I sat up straight in bed, my hand already at my heart. Someone was screaming. Screaming nonstop. I looked at Sabine. She was on her feet, her chest heaving up and down.
“What is it? What is it?” she asked.
Doors slammed. Pounding footsteps. I shoved my sheets aside. The weak sunlight was just pushing its way through the windowpanes. There was a shout. Another scream atop the first. I raced into the hall with Sabine at my heels. Vienna, on the floor against the wall, crying. London, Portia, Tiffany, and Kiki gathered at the door to Cheyenne’s room. Missy and Lorna clinging to each other. Someone, somewhere, was throwing up. I got to the door, easily slipped through. Rose was still screaming. Screaming over Cheyenne’s body.
“Cheyenne! Oh my God! Cheyenne!”
The voice was mine, but it seemed to be coming from somewhere outside me. I fell to my knees. Took her face in my hands. It was like
clammy ice. Gray. There were tiny red dots on the skin all around her eyes.
“Cheyenne! Wake up! Cheyenne!” I shouted.
I slapped at her face with my fingers, knowing it would do nothing. Knowing it was too late.
“Stop screaming!” I roared at Rose.
Tiffany stepped forward, tiptoeing past Cheyenne as if she might catch something, and hugged Rose to her. Rose, mercifully, stopped.
“She OD’ed,” London said, breathless. “She must’ve OD’ed.”
There were pills on the floor. A small velvet bag with white pills spilling out the top. White pills with a blue-dot design on them. I felt my entire world collapse in on me. My vision grayed.
White pills with a blue-dot design . . . white pills with a blu—
Suddenly Astrid burst into the room with Mrs. Naylor. Astrid’s hand flew to her mouth and she turned away from Cheyenne’s body. Mrs. Naylor, more spry than I ever could have imagined, dropped down next to me and put her fingers to Cheyenne’s throat. I stood up. Stood back. Gave her room.
Mrs. Naylor started CPR. Everyone was silent. Vienna’s crying in the hall and the sound of Mrs. Naylor’s pumping and counting were the only sounds. I looked at Tiffany. She was staring, wide-eyed, at the desk. I followed her eyes. There, sitting next to Cheyenne’s pink laptop, was a piece of lavender paper. On it, written in Cheyenne’s swirling script were but a few words.
I’m sorry. I can’t go home.
A siren split the silence. Mrs. Naylor gave up. Sat back on her slippered heels. Covered her mouth with one veiny hand. We heard the paramedics slamming through the doors, into our home, but we all knew it was too late
Cheyenne was long gone.
THE MOVIE
I stood outside Billings in the warm morning sun, feeling as if I was watching a movie I had seen before. It was all so familiar. The police cars. The yellow tape. The flashing lights. Students in their pajamas, standing around, looking horrified. The crying, the wonder, the fear. The cops with their stern looks and comforting hands on shoulders. Everyone was playing their parts to perfection.
But this time there was no mist. No darkness. No dew. This time there was no uncertainty. No confusion. No accusations.
Cheyenne had killed herself. End of story. She had closed her door on me last night and sometime before Rose had opened it this morning to help her pack, she had taken her own life.
All around me people whispered and talked and speculated. All around me people stared and waited and wondered. I couldn’t hear any of them. Couldn’t move or focus. I could hardly even breathe.
Had she been planning it when she threw me out of her room? Was
that what the out-of-control look was about? Had she already known? Already planned . . .
The front door of Billings House opened. A tall, broad EMT with a shaved head maneuvered the stretcher over the threshold. It was covered in thick white sheets, but the outline of the body was clear. Her petite frame looked tinier than ever. Cheyenne was under there. Cheyenne. Yesterday she had been laughing with Portia at lunch, studying on the quad. Today she was dead. Gone. Forever.
I saw Ivy step up out of the crowd. Stand atop one of the stone walls. Rose stepped up next to her. They stood side by side, watching silently, watching stoically as the stretcher progressed down the pathway. The doors of the ambulance opened. The legs of the stretcher collapsed. Cheyenne was loaded inside. Dead. Gone. Forever.
And suddenly, Josh appeared out of nowhere, and I was in his arms.
“Reed, omigod. Are you okay?” he demanded.
I pressed my face into his shoulder. I couldn’t watch anymore. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t.
He leaned back. Took my face in both hands. Tried to look me in the eye. But I couldn’t do that, either. I stared at his chest. Tiny dots swirled in front of my eyes. Prickling, pretty little dots . . .
“Reed, breathe,” Josh said to me. “Breathe!”
Couldn’t. Breathe. Tiny dots. There were so . . . so . . . many of them. . . .
Josh shook me hard. I sucked in air. Pain exploded in my chest. I started to cough. Doubled over. Gasping. Coughing. Not getting enough air. I was going to be sick. Sick everywhere.
“Move! Move!” I heard Josh shout. He maneuvered me over to a
low stone wall that surrounded one of the gardens. I felt the coldness of the rock through my thin shorts, and it brought me back. Put my head between my knees and breathed in and out . . . in and out . . .
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Josh said, his hands still on my shoulders as he crouched in front of me. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”
In and out. In and out. I was breathing. I could breathe. Cheyenne, however—
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurted, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“What?”
I lifted my head. Head rush. I gripped the stones at my sides until it passed. Blinked my eyes open. Josh’s face was all concern. All innocent, desperate concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked, running his hand over my hair.
“No. No, I’m not okay. I’m so sorry, Josh!” I cried. “I didn’t believe you, but it was true. It was all true.”
“What was true?” he asked, placing his warm hand on my knee.
“You! The drugs. It was Cheyenne. She did it to you. I saw them. I saw the pills,” I rambled. “It’s what she used to . . . what she used to . . . ”
And that was it. There was nothing left in me. I leaned forward onto Josh’s strong shoulder and just cried. And cried and cried and cried and cried. She must have sent that text message to herself. Must have lifted his phone and set the whole thing up for me. Clearly she was desperate enough to do such a thing.
“Why would she do this? Why?” I rambled.
“It’s okay, Reed,” Josh whispered, holding me. He stroked my hair and whispered in my ear. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
MORBID CURIOSITY
Sabine walked into our room later that day to find me packing my Easton soccer duffel bag. She stopped in her tracks, hand still on the doorknob.
“Where are you going?” she demanded. Almost snapped.
“Josh thought it would be a good idea to get out of here for a couple of days,” I told her. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
Her entire posture relaxed. “Thank goodness. I thought you were dropping out.”
“No. Not yet, anyway,” I attempted to joke. Lame joke. We looked at each other and both rolled our eyes.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
She walked to her desk and sat down stiffly. All our movements had been stiff like that since that morning. As if we didn’t know how to act anymore. As if that room down the hallway was somehow watching us. After the ambulance was gone and the police had done their
work, only a few of the Billings Girls had come back to the house. I was sure classes would have been canceled if this were a weekday, but it was a Saturday anyway, so they were killing time in the library, on the quad, or in other dorms. The few who had returned kept their doors closed, unlike a usual day off when they would be open, music pouring into the hall, the sounds of chatter and laughter everywhere. Just thinking about it put pressure on my heart. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
“New York,” I told her. “Josh’s parents said it was okay if we stay at their town house. They’re in France right now, so . . . ”
“So you’ll have the whole house to yourselves,” Sabine said.
“Believe me, that’s the last thing I’m thinking about right now,” I replied. “I just want to get out of here.”
I zipped up my bag. Looked at the door.
“I’m sorry to be leaving you right now, though,” I told her. “It’s kind of a bitch move, I know.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Sabine said, lifting a hand. “My sister is in Boston for a few days, so I applied for time off campus. I can’t wait to see her.”
“That’s so nice,” I said, surprised. Sabine had mentioned nothing of this before now. “I’m sorry I won’t be around to meet her.”
“No worries,” Sabine said with a smile. “Next time. I’m sure she’d love to meet you as well.” She stood up again and grabbed a book from her bag. “I think I’ll go outside and find Constance and the others.” Like I said, no one could stay inside Billings for long. “Have fun in the city. Try not to think about this place.”
“I will,” I told her, accepting a quick hug.
When she was gone, the house was as still as a tomb. I felt my pulse start to race and considered heading outside myself until it was time to go. I was about to grab my backpack and just go when my eyes fell on my computer and I paused. I hadn’t checked my e-mail since yesterday morning. I wondered, with a sudden sizzle of nerves, if Dash had written. If, in the very small world we circulated in, he had already heard about what had happened. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d asked if he knew how to get in touch with Noelle. But this . . . he had to have written if he’d heard about this. Tense with anticipation, I sat down and opened my browser. Sure enough, the first new e-mail was from Dash, time-stamped from late that morning. I quickly clicked it open and glanced behind me. The door was still closed.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the screen. The message was short.
Reed,
Don’t worry. Everything happens for a reason.
—Dash
I blinked. Read it again. Was he referring to Cheyenne, or to something that I had written to him? I couldn’t imagine Dash being so cavalier about the death of someone he knew. Someone he may even have named as a friend. But what had I written to him last time that would merit that response? I found that, with everything that had happened, I couldn’t even remember my wording.
I closed the message. The list reappeared. My heart completely stopped.
The second message was from Cheyenne. It was dated 2:04 that morning.
She had closed her door on me last night and sometime before Rose had opened it this morning to help her pack, she had taken her own life.
There was an e-mail in my in-box from someone who would never speak to anyone again. Never write to anyone or say another word. Why had she e-mailed me of all people? Why would she want some of her last thoughts to go to me?
My throat went dry. A sick sense of dread seeped from my shoulders all the way down through my chest and settled in my gut, writhing around like snakes inside my stomach. I felt like somebody was watching me. Watching and getting their sick, sadistic jollies from the show.
I took a deep breath. Straightened my back. Tried to look unaffected. To feel unaffected. My hand hovered over the mouse.
Just delete it. I should just delete it. Forget it was there. Pretend it never happened.
But who was I kidding? Even I was not immune to morbid curiosity. In that moment I was positive that I could not live the rest of my life in peace without knowing.
I dropped my hand. Clicked the message open. Immediately wished I hadn’t. This was all it said:
Ignore the note. You did this to me. You ruined my life.
SURPRISE, SURPRISE
How did I ruin her life? How? I hadn’t gotten her expelled. Hadn’t named names. I should have told her. Should have told her I had protected her even after everything. Why hadn’t I told her? It was just pride. My pride. Had my pride been the cause of Cheyenne’s death?
“Reed?”
Josh held open the door of the glass-fronted restaurant on Perry Street. The smells emanating from inside prickled my taste buds. Too bad I was so sure my stomach was going to reject anything I tried to send its way.
“Thanks,” I said as I slipped by him.
He put his hand on my arm. His fingers were so warm. “Are you okay? We don’t have to eat out if you don’t want to.”
There had been a half-hour-long debate about whether to stay in or go out, both sides argued by Josh himself. Pro: We had just gotten back together and should celebrate. Con: How could we celebrate
when someone we knew had just killed herself? I had, in my distracted state, agreed with both sides whenever they came up. Josh had been forced to finally make the decision out of hunger. I had put on my favorite blue H&M dress, not even caring if it was nice enough for wherever he was taking me, slicked my hair back into a ponytail, and followed him out of the town house.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just hungry.”
He smiled and nodded and followed me inside. The maître d’ led us to a table in the center of the restaurant. The largest table in the place sat four, and the chairs were comfy, deep-winged chairs like you’d find in an upscale living room. When I sank into mine, I felt as if I were cocooned. Warm. Safe. Now if I could just concentrate on Josh all night, have an actual conversation, I might actually be able to take my mind off that e-mail.
“Oh, crap,” Josh said, pausing before he could lower himself all the way into his chair.
My heart slammed into my sternum. An inordinately violent reaction. “What?”
“I see some friends of my parents,” he said, lifting a hand and faking a smile. “I’m sorry, Reed, I have to go over there. Just for a minute.”
My hands gripped the arms of my chair.
No. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I can’t be alone right now.
“That’s okay,” I said, gulping.
“I promise I’ll be back in two seconds,” he told me.