Free Some Quiet Place by Kelsey Sutton Page A

meets my gaze squarely. She’s decided something. “We’re all pretending, all the time. But now it’s different. I feel different. I think I need to face the fact that I’m going to die, and I need to hear someone say it.”
    There’s no going back, and she seems to finally accept it, so I don’t attempt to help her with the pretense anymore. “I know, Maggie.”
    She grins weakly. “You do, don’t you? You’ve always seemed to know things. But I wasn’t bothered by it like everyone else. You made me feel … safe. I used to get jealous. You’re so strong, so certain in who you are. I wanted more. I wanted to be beautiful, like Sophia Richardson, popular, loved, perfect. Since that wasn’t possible, I tried to be special by being the school Goth. And look at me now. I’m special now, aren’t I?” Maggie utters a bitter laugh.
    “This isn’t—”
    “I know. I know, okay? I don’t need to hear the speech again. I didn’t do anything to deserve this, bad things happen, it’s out of our control. I know, I know, I know . But why ? Why me, why now? You know so much, Liz, then tell me. Why did this have to happen to me? ”
    I’ve been expecting this, anticipating this moment. No human can look into the face of death and not cower or panic. But I don’t have any words to calm Maggie, because the answer she’s looking for doesn’t exist. There’s no rhyme or reason for pain and suffering, for those beings that live to distribute it—these things just are. I could give her all the pretty lies, but it won’t hide the truth this time, and there’s no going back to our old ways.
    “I’m here,” I tell her, so simple. There’s nothing else. Well, nothing but one more truth. And she’s waiting for me to say it. She needs me to say it. So I do. With all the reality of how empty I am. “You’re going to die, Maggie.”
    She stares at me, the girl in the bed with the wet, white cheeks and the bleeding heart. Emotions are crowding close, reaching out for her like weeds in water. My nothingness swallows me whole. I stand. As if on cue, I hear Maggie’s parents down the hall, talking in lowered, worried murmurs. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” I say, standing.
    “I love you, Liz,” Maggie whispers to my back. I pause, consider offering another false sentiment in return, but for some reason, I don’t. I walk out the door and don’t look back.

Nine
    “So when did you want to do this?”
    I squint up at Joshua, lifting a tired hand to shade my eyes. The drawing I’m working on lies half-finished in
my lap, an image of hands braiding long hair. Quickly I unfold the cover of the notebook and close it. “Do what?” I ask. I’m slow this morning; more dreams and unanswered questions plagued me throughout the night.
    Joshua shifts from foot to foot, debates for a moment, then plops down on the ground beside me. “We need to work on the portfolio. So, well, we could decide who should do what and work separately, but I’m not exactly creative, so … ”
    “It’s not due for almost two weeks,” I remind him.
    He plays with a rubber band around his wrist, staring out at the street. “Yeah, but I like to be prepared,” he answers.
    We’re sitting on the front steps of the school. It’s quiet; no need to pretend, no risk of making a mistake.
    Joshua moves restlessly. I can see that he’s one of those people who never stays still, probably not even when he’s sleeping. “Do you want to meet somewhere after school, maybe later this week?” I finally ask him.
    A group of our classmates crosses the street, approaching the school. Their voices startle Joshua. The crowd is followed by two Emotions: Apprehension and Desperation. It’s so important to these kids to fit in, to belong. Joshua watches everyone clattering up the steps for a moment and then he looks back at me. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking from his expression. I note how neither of the Emotions stops to touch Joshua.
    Then