Free Are You Still There by Sarah Lynn Scheerger Page B

what she was going to do.
    You think she would’ve told me.
    She did.
    She did tell me.
    But she’d been saying shit like that for years.
    Years.
    Talking death. Emo crap. Black eyeliner.
    The whole bit.
    Playing her game.
    What’s the best way to die?
    Being slammed on the train tracks?
    Instantaneous.
    But they’d find pieces of you for miles.
    And what would your parents bury?
    Slitting an artery?
    Slower.
    Pain not so bad.
    But messy as hell.
    And who cleans that up?
    Gun in the mouth.
    Quick.
    Effective.
    Also messy.
    And where does a tenth grader get a gun?
    Pills.
    Easy to get. Easy to take.
    But if nobody finds you, you choke on your own vomit.
    Kind of repulsive.
    She never mentioned hanging.
    Never.
    And she never said this was more than a game.
    Never.
    But I should have known.
    A better friend would have known.
    That’s my daily ride on the guilt train.
    My mind circles the track
    Over and over
    The chugga-chugging
    Sounding a whole helluva lot like
    Shoulda-woulda, shoulda-woulda .
    I can never get off that train.
    It’s the worst when I’m in bed
    And the silence of the house is suffocating.
    The only way I can distract my brain
    Is to plan
    My next move.
    There’s one thing I’ve learned from Jo—
    That sometimes someone has to die
    To make a point.

13
    Our library is always freezing. I don’t complain though. It keeps me awake.
    â€œYou ready for the test in government?” Eric stacks his notes neatly on the library table.
    I look up. “No. That’d be why I’m cramming during lunch.” I’m trying to refocus on my schoolwork. Kick senioritis to the curb. Beth’s sampling a new lunchtime club.
    â€œWant help?”
    â€œUnless you can magically beam the answers into my brain, I doubt any kind of help can rescue me now. I’m just bracing myself for the parental lecture I’m gonna get when I bring home a B. All about getting my priorities straight and yada, yada.” I rub my arms because the goose bumps are having a field day.
    â€œThe problem is that you’ve spoiled them by bringing home all A’s. Now they expect it.”
    I grin. “Maybe.”
    â€œIf you started out with C’s, they’d be thrilled with B’s.”
    â€œGood point. Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.” I look back at my book. I have so much left to read. I don’t want to be rude, but I want him to leave. I really do need to cram. “I don’t think you’re a good example though. You’re in the running for valedictorian, aren’t you?”
    Eric shrugs like it’s no big deal. He drags back a chair, scraping it on the ground, and sits himself down. He pulls my textbook away from me and I’m about to protest, but I see the librarian shooting us the evil eye from across the room. We are too loud.
    â€œHere,” he says, turning the pages. “Focus on this section. If you have this part down, you’ll do fine.”
    â€œOkay. I guess I can’t get through it all anyway.” I move the book back in front of me. He stays in his seat, watching me. “Not to be rude, but I can’t concentrate with you sitting there.”
    â€œOkay, okay, I get the hint.” He stands up. “You’ll do fine.”
    I read the section twice, and skim the headings and bolded words in the rest of the chapter. I hope Eric is right. The warning bell rings and I suddenly feel the warmth of a body next to mine. I almost laugh out loud. Has Eric been waiting for me all lunch?
    But when I look up, I don’t see Eric. I see Miguel. He’s holding a single rose.
    My skin prickles in an oh-my-god-is-this-really-happening kind of way. I have never been given a rose by a boy in my life.
    It feels so completely cheesy that I can hardly take it from him.
    But I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and he looks so vulnerable standing there holding it. So I reach my hand out and take