The Tragedy Paper (11 page)

When he didn’t see Daisy in the dining room—and it was one of his favorite lunches of all, grass-fed beef burgers from the Hudson Valley—he started to get worried. He wrapped up his food in napkins and left. He intended to go up to his room—he had almost an hour until his next class—and listen to more about Tim. But when he got to the top of the stairs, he did something reckless: he veered off toward the girls’ side. He couldn’t believe he was doing
it even as he was actually doing it. He tried to look like he belonged there, which was ridiculous, but somehow it made him feel better. He rounded the corner, prepared for anything, and stopped short. The hall was empty, but what struck him the most was how totally different it looked from the boys’ hall.

The carpet was a bright but not tacky blue; the walls were yellow with painted vines and flowers here and there. There was a window seat that they didn’t have on their side with a plaid pillow and a small pile of books perched on top. Each door was painted a different color—mint green, bright orange, lavender. It reminded him a little of Dr. Seuss, and while it was so much nicer than their dingy grays and browns, he wasn’t entirely sure he would want to live there.

It certainly didn’t look like there had been any sort of disaster on the girls’ side this morning. He checked the carpet for blood and the walls for fire marks, which he knew was silly. Most of the girls should be at lunch, but one of the privileges of being a senior was that you were allowed to go back to your room at any time if you needed or wanted to as long as you didn’t miss class or another important activity. So if you wanted to eat lunch in your room, that was okay. Still, no one seemed to be around.

Duncan walked down the hall slowly and realized he had no idea which door might be Daisy’s. There were pictures and stickers and some big bows decorating the different
doors, but no names. He wondered how the girls figured out which room they had. Over on the boys’ side, the names were still up on most of the doors. Then Daisy’s friend Justine came out of her room. It was the one with the purple door—not the lavender door but a real deep purple. She looked so startled that Duncan thought she was going to scream. She opened her mouth but clamped it shut before she said anything. They stood facing each other.

“Hey, I’m looking for Daisy,” he finally said, his voice a little too high and squeaky.

“Yeah, I figured,” she said.

Duncan had to try hard not to smile. If Justine guessed he was looking for Daisy, then he wasn’t crazy thinking there was some sort of connection between them. Other people must see it too.

“She’s not here,” Justine said.

“Is she at lunch? I didn’t see her there.”

“No,” Justine said. “She’s at the hospital.”

Duncan took a step back.

“What?! Is she”—he didn’t know what to say—“sick?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Justine said, turning to go. He never really did like Justine.

“No, wait,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. She turned but pulled her wrist out of his grasp. “Please, I need to know.”

“Why do you need to know?” she asked. “You haven’t talked to her in months.”

Justine was right. He
hadn’t
talked to Daisy in months, except for their brief exchange this morning when he had practically shut his door in her face.

They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

“What’s for lunch?” Justine asked, like they hadn’t just been talking about a friend going to the hospital.

Duncan remembered his burger and pointed to the wrapped food in his hand.

“I didn’t touch this,” he said. “Ketchup, mustard, and pickles.”

“Just the way I like it,” she said. Duncan noticed that her eyes looked a little red, like she’d been crying or something. Her chestnut-colored hair was perfectly brushed into a high ponytail, and she was wearing a madras shirt and faded jeans. She was pretty, but not nearly as pretty as Daisy.

“Were you offering that to me?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said, handing it over. “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the burger and lifting it to her nose to take a sniff. “I’m starving.”

“Can you at least tell me if Daisy is sick? Or hurt?” Duncan pleaded again.

Justine didn’t answer. She turned and went back to her purple door. Duncan wondered if the inside was purple too. It was like a different world over here. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked back.

“I’m going to talk to Daisy later,” she said. “Do you have a message you’d like me to give her?”

Duncan thought. There were so many things. That he was sorry he’d let so much time go by without really talking to her. That he was sorry he hadn’t helped her this morning when she came to his door and hoped that had nothing to do with the hospital. That he hadn’t felt this way about any other girl ever. That on many summer nights he would lie in bed and wonder what she was doing and if she ever thought about him.

“Just that I hope she’s okay,” he said. He didn’t wait for Justine to comment; he simply turned and walked to the back of the dorm and to the tiny hall that connected the two sides. He could almost hear her snickering as he turned and disappeared, jogging to his room. As soon as he crossed over to the boys’ side, he worried about running into Mr. Simon. But he made it inside and shut the door, sitting on his bed to catch his breath. It took him a minute to realize that he would have nothing to eat until dinner and he still didn’t know which door was hers. That was when he remembered the hidden compartment Tim had mentioned in his letter.

Duncan found the letter in his desk drawer and followed the instructions that led him to the hidden space, opening it slowly. He expected it to be empty. He guessed, when he first read that note—it seemed like weeks ago now—that it was just a concession for having this room, which, Duncan had to admit, was growing on him.

But the space wasn’t empty. Duncan could see that right
away. He got down on his knees so he could get a better look. It was a tiny opening, about six inches by eight inches, but he could see there was a surprisingly large space beyond that, maybe two feet by two feet, or even bigger. Duncan slowly started to pull the items out and placed them on the floor. There was a bundle of lined papers folded in half. He could see they were written on, but he didn’t stop to read the words yet. There was a green scarf. There were strange-looking sunglasses that seemed like they wrapped around your head. Duncan put them on and then pulled them off quickly. They gave him the creeps. He put those on the floor next to the pile he was building. There was a small paperback book—Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
, Duncan saw. There was a Post-it on the cover that said in that scrawled handwriting:
Read this—and don’t miss the point
. By now, Duncan was fairly sure the note was meant for him—that all of this stuff was meant for him.

And finally, toward the back of the space, there was a key ring with three keys. Duncan had to reach almost to the wall to get them, and even then it was tricky. The key ring itself looked like a souvenir from Chicago—it said
THE WINDY CITY
with a picture of a lake being blown by a strong wind. The three keys were each different: one was silver with a complicated design where it fit into the lock; one looked like a skeleton key; and the other was small and copper, turning green at the edges.

Duncan reached into the space and moved his hand
around, touching every surface to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He could guess about the scarf, but he wanted to know about all the other things. Maybe they weren’t all left here by Tim. Maybe some had been left by the previous occupants of the room. Maybe that was one of the traditions of the room, though Duncan had never heard of that. He picked up the folded papers, hoping they would offer a clue. But when he looked, he could see they were notes about tragedy, probably for Tim’s paper. There were words followed by definitions. Duncan could read the words, but what followed was written and then erased and rewritten so many times he couldn’t make it out. He read the words slowly to himself:
monomania, catharsis, irony, error in judgment, tragic flaw, pity, fear
. Duncan turned page after page looking for Tim’s draft of his paper, but it wasn’t there.

He glanced at his desk, where the CDs were stacked in a pile. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t solved the mystery of what happened on the girls’ floor, Daisy was at the hospital for some unknown reason, but all he wanted to do was listen to Tim’s voice methodically tell the story. There was so much he needed to find out and actually do here, in his own reality, but it was easier to press Play, lie back on his bed with the red flannel sheets that just last week were on his bed at home, and listen.

Meeting Patrick in the bathroom was enough to make me never want to go there again, let me tell you. I mean, I even scouted out all the other options—the bathroom near the dining hall, the one in the library—but there were a few problems with them, as you may know. The biggest one being that there wasn’t even a shower in any of those.

Already it seemed like things were bordering on unbearable. I was new to the school, and there were two people I completely wanted to avoid—and I mean avoid—never, ever run into or see again. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true of both of them. But that guy was such a freak. Why had Patrick gone from wanting to pummel me to wanting me to be part of their Game? I didn’t trust him for a second, and yet I wasn’t quite sure how I would get out of it.

These were the things I was thinking when I heard a
rustling sound. Something was being pushed under my door. I wanted to hide in the tiny closet or pull the covers up over my head and pretend I wasn’t there, but my adrenaline was still raging, so without much thought, I yanked open the door. It was a kid I hadn’t seen before.

“Uh, hi,” he said, standing up with the paper in his hand. “You’re Tim, right?”

I assured him I was.

“I’m Kyle,” he said, handing me the paper. “Vanessa asked me to give this to you.”

“What is it?” I asked, assuming it had to do with the hike or capture the flag.

“I have no idea.” Kyle shrugged. “Sorry. But it’s nice to meet you.”

“Wait! Are you friends with Vanessa?” I thought I might as well try to figure out the social landscape while I had a chance.

“No, not really,” he said. “She was waiting at the top of the stairs. I must have been the first boy she saw.”

I wanted to ask so many other questions but didn’t dare. Also, I was dying to see what the paper said. “Well, thanks,” I said. I watched as he waved and walked down the hall.

I closed the door and sat for a minute with the paper on my lap. There was tape keeping it closed, so I broke through that and slowly unfolded it, my heart beating so fast it hurt. It was also hard to breathe.

Dear Tim
. I loved that: Dear Tim!

Fondly, Vanessa
. I loved that too. Noon was still hours away. How was I going to get through the morning until then? But, worse, how was I going to go? It was so bright outside, between the winter sun and the intense white snow.
I thought I just might have to actually wear my glasses. But when I put them on and looked at myself in the dingy mirror, I realized that there was no way. I hated them. And Vanessa had said I had nice eyes; I wasn’t going to cover them up with those ugly things. I stuffed them back in my bag.

I usually wear my glasses when I run alone—I think they help me hide. There was one time last year, though, when I was fairly sure I would run into a girl from school and I decided not to wear them. One time wouldn’t hurt. I had to sneak out because my mother would not go for that sort of reasoning. In the end, it was a disaster. My eyes hurt, and I had to stop constantly to cover them to take the sting out. Just as I got within sight of the girl’s house, and I could actually see her in the yard, my mother pulled up behind me and handed me my glasses through the window. I put them on and turned, glad to have something to cover my face, which was burning from embarrassment. I headed home and didn’t look back. Still, I’m pretty sure the girl saw me.

I got ready and waited, and when it was time to meet Vanessa, I left my room and followed her good directions to the science building. She wasn’t there yet, even though I was about three minutes late, so I opened the door and waited just inside. I finally saw her coming toward me along the same path I had just taken. She was wearing black pants and a gray sweatshirt. Her blond hair was in a high ponytail
pulled through the back of a bulldog cap. I was surprised to see her lack of color. As she got closer, I had the urge to leave through the back door, but I willed myself to stay put. I hadn’t seen her since she left me in the airport. It hadn’t really been that long when I thought about it, but it seemed like weeks—months, even. She saw me and started to wave. I waved back.

I waited inside, expecting her to come get me. But she sort of pointed toward the woods and headed there without stopping. I walked out and jogged to catch up. She did not slow down.