Wish You Were Dead

grandmother. Her father worked for a big international corporation and traveled even more than my father. Courtney’s older sister, Abigail, was studying at NYU Law, and was supposed to keep an eye on her younger sister while her parents were away, but Abby spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s apartment in the city. As a result, Courtney was the least supervised person I knew.

“So … heard anything more about Lucy?” I asked as I backed the Audi out of the driveway.

Courtney shook her head and fiddled with her iPod. To my surprise, she offered no opinion. Sometimes she could be Little Miss Motormouth, so I had to wonder why she was being so quiet. She scrolled through her iPod and definitely wasn’t acting like herself. We’d known each other and had been part of the same crowd for a couple of years, but only recently had we started to become friends. Admittedly, we were an odd pairing. I was petite and blonde (well, streaked blonde) with a turned-up nose, athletic, and, I admit, something of a bookish Goody Two- shoes homebody. Courtney was tall and lithe, dark and exotic, utterly disinterested in sports, not the greatest student, and had a rep for being wildly social and socially wild. What few people knew, mostly because Courtney didn’t care to let them know, was that when she felt like it, she could be really smart and perceptive. The first time we had a seriously deep conversation, she told me she’d always thought I was too reserved and “intellectual,” and too much of a prude (does anyone besides Courtney still use that word?). I admitted that I’d thought she was kind of superficial and maybe even a little slutty (although that was based more on rumor than firsthand observation).

“Oh!” In the seat next to me, Courtney suddenly thought of something and turned down the volume on her iPod. “What happened with Tyler?”

“Less than I’d hoped,” I said with a shrug.

My friend pouted sympathetically. “Sparks didn’t fly?”

“Not even close. I don’t know, Courts. I’m just so bad at flirting.” The truth was, I was bad at just about everything when it came to guys. I was comfortable talking to them about serious things—school, social causes, the environment—but the moment any aspect of romance was introduced, I instantly lost my bearings and tended to freeze up with self-conscious uncertainty.

“Did you touch his arm when you talked to him?” she asked.

It felt a little strange to be talking about guys when Lucy was missing, but I shook my head. “I kept thinking I should, but it seemed so obvious and forced. Like he’d know exactly why I was doing it.”

“So?”

“That’s not the way it’s supposed to happen.”

Courtney gave me an exasperated look. “According to whom?”

“I know, I know.” We’d already discussed this at length. “According to my unrealistic notions about romance and guys and Sir Galahad and blah, blah, blah.”

Courtney gave me an exaggerated nod, and said, “Yah-ha,” which was her nice way of saying, “When are you going to snap out of your fantasy world and get it through your thick skull that guys just aren’t the way you, Madison Archer, want them to be?”

“I know. I know.”

“Well, maybe it’s all for the best?” Courtney said. “Maybe he’s the wrong guy for you anyway? Like, I mean, you don’t know anything about him. He just seemed to come out of nowhere.”

“No,” I countered. “He comes from some place. I just don’t know where.”

“Did you ask?”

“The opportunity didn’t come up.”

Courtney stared at me. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you spend, like, half the night in the car with him?”

“Yes, I know. I just didn’t … I don’t know, I didn’t feel comfortable prying. And I didn’t want to seem too interested.”

“You can ask where someone’s from without sounding too interested, Madison.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“So how did it end?” she asked.

I told her about how he’d called Lucy a rich bitch and then saw where I lived and apologized and said he thought I was pretty nice.

“Yah-ha!” Courtney raised her eyebrows. “That’s a hopeful sign.”

“He only said it because he felt bad about the ‘rich bitch’ thing.”

“Hello? You don’t know that. Maybe he really thinks it. I mean, face it, Madison, you are known for being Miss Congeniality.”

I was wondering how many Miss Congenialities wound up becoming Miss Old Maids when I turned into the driveway at Soundview High, an old three-story brick building with white columns in front. As we pulled into the student parking lot, I spotted Jen Waits on foot, dodging through the rows of parked cars to intercept us.

Jen was a short, busty cheerleader with blonde bangs, boundless energy, and an indefatigable zeal for being part of what she perceived to be “the right crowd.” Impervious to slights and putdowns, she was a gossip of encyclopedic proportions.

“Brace yourself,” Courtney muttered as I parked the Audi. Jen was motoring toward us fast enough to make her ample chest bounce under her tight sweater.

“You guys hear about Lucy?” she gasped, pink-cheeked from running. Before either of us could answer, she said, “Of course you have. But know what I heard? The police aren’t doing anything! It’s some weird policy they have for teenagers. They don’t start to investigate unless you’re gone for, like, a week. Because kids are always running away, you know?”

“Always?” I repeated doubtfully.

“That’s what I heard. Anyway, I wonder how Adam is taking it. I mean, they did have a huge fight at the party.” Jen gave Courtney a curious look. “Have you heard anything?”

I wondered why Jen had directed the question to Courtney.

“Since when am I the central clearing house for gossip?” Courtney asked pointedly.

“Just asking, okay?” Jen said with a shrug. “You were at the party. I saw you talking to him.”

“So?” There was an uncharacteristic note of irritation in Courtney’s voice.

“I just thought maybe you’d heard something,” Jen said a bit sheepishly.

I was unaccustomed to seeing venom in Courtney’s gaze, but there was no mistaking it now. I couldn’t help wondering why.

In school the rumors were repeated. Lucy and Adam had had a big fight at the party. The police couldn’t be bothered because too often teens disappeared for a day or two and then reappeared. But I’d known Lucy since we were little kids. It was not like her to lose it just because she’d had a fight with her boyfriend. And run away? Lucy was the most competitive person I knew. That was the biggest reason why we’d ceased being close friends. It wasn’t fun or even healthy to be friends with someone who always had to be better than you. Lucy Cunningham was the last person to run away from anything. But she was also bipolar and, therefore, unpredictable.

At lunch I picked at a salad while Courtney ravenously scarfed down several slices of truly unappetizing- looking cafeteria pizza. It seemed touchingly sad, given the Rajwars’ affluence, that my friend had to depend on a school lunch to fill her nutritional needs.

“So … what was that about with Jen this morning?” I asked.

Courtney finished chewing and swallowed. “I was talking to Adam at the party and Lucy came over and just went off on him. It was totally innocent, but you know how she can get sometimes.”

That was true. Lucy was possessive and territorial, and wouldn’t hesitate to let Adam know when she thought he was getting too friendly with another girl. Across the cafeteria, Tyler emerged from the lunch line carrying a tray and wearing his trademark black leather trench coat. I watched as he scanned the tables, then headed for an empty one by the windows.

“The loner rebel,” Courtney quipped.

“Maybe he’s just shy,” I said.

A wry smile appeared on her lips. “Whoever came up with the phrase ‘Opposites attract’ must have been thinking about you.” She raised one eyebrow. “Why don’t you go over?”

“And say what?”

“How about ‘How are you?’ or ‘Nice weather we’re having today’ or ‘What do you think of them Yankees?’