Free Feathermore by Lucy Swing Page A

written and sent the invitations for the wake and funeral to Mom and Dad’s friends, colleagues, some far-flung family members we hadn’t talked to in a while, and some kids from school. She had also hired a caterer, hired some professionals to clean the house, and bought me a brand-new black dress. It was a lot for any teenager to pull off, but she did it.
    I didn’t want to get up, especially when that meant saying good-bye to the two people who meant the world to me. I wished I could lie here forever and just let the darkness that danced around me engulf me and take me away. I could already feel it growing inside me, deep in my core. All the things that once made me happy, made me human, were distant memories. My life was now ripped apart.
    I got up and stumbled to the small bathroom. I opened the sliding shower door and turned the water on. After playing with the handles for a bit, I got the temperature just right and slid out of my ill-smelling clothes. Once the water started to turn cold, I dried off and went to the duffel bag. Claire knew me well. All my favorite clothes were here. Eventually, a time would come when I would feel normal again. (Or would I?) I dug deep into the bag until I felt my worn-out black Converse high-tops and pulled them out. This, along with the dress, was my mourning attire, a front-row view into my inner depths. It had been five days since “the accident,” and the darkness grew each day with the numbing feeling that accompanied it.
    I walked out to the kitchen, where the brightness of the outside world blinded me. I had cocooned myself in the darkness in Nate’s spare bedroom for long enough. Sitting down at the small table, I hid my face in my hands. Claire glanced my way and quickly handed me my black Ray-Ban Wayfarers. With my eyes still closed, I slid them on.
    “ Thanks.” I mumbled under my breath.
    I could now see Claire standing next to the stove, her back toward me. Her bright pink pajama top, which I once would have loved, made me want to vomit. It was just too bright, too happy, for my mood right now. Moving about with her usual grace, she worked on what smelled like pancakes. Nate’s kitchen was small but homey, with cherry cabinets and white marble countertops. A white microwave hung from the cabinet above the white stove they never used. I had been here only a few times and had yet to meet Nate’s parents. They were always off on a business trip or long vacation somewhere halfway around the world. I had always felt bad for Nate because he was always alone. Now I was just like him, except that my parents were never coming back.
    Without turning again to look at me, Claire started her usual chatter, this time about what was happening at school. I hadn’t taken the time to realize that while I had been holing up in the guest bedroom, life kept rolling right along for everyone else.
    “ Are you okay?” Her voice was soft and all too motherly. I lifted my gaze from my hands, where I had been picking at my chipped nail polish, to her face, and saw her expression of concern switch to one of your parents just died; of course you’re not okay. I dismissed the question with a faint nod. She mumbled something unintelligible and then walked over with a plate full of all my favorite things: pancakes, bacon, biscuits, and a tall glass of orange juice with three ice cubes. I was automatically reminded of my birthday morning, when Mom made us my special breakfast. Not wiping away the solitary tear that rolled down my cheek, I felt the cooling trace of its passage.
    “ I’m sorry, Jade.” She sat down beside me and slid her arm over my shoulders, making our temples touch lightly. “Just know that I understand, and, well . . .” She was silent for a moment. “. . . I’ve been there myself. You don’t have to hold back around me, or even Nate. You know that, right?” She searched my face, though I doubt she could have seen much through the dark lenses. I nodded and closed my