Free Chasing William by Therese McFadden

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