Wish You Were Dead

“Why are you making excuses for her?” Tyler asked as he drove.

“Because I’ve known her for a long time. In fact, in middle school, we were best friends.”

“That doesn’t give her the right to dump on us.” Tyler craned his neck for the street signs that would lead us out of Lucy’s neighborhood.

Twenty minutes earlier, we’d picked her up at Cassandra Quinn’s house. It was just after two thirty, and through the brightly lit windows we could see that the party was still going strong. The front door had opened and Lucy stumbled across the lawn with the unsteady gait of someone who’d been intimate with Jell-O shots. I was surprised by that, considering the medications she was taking. And why had she called Safe Rides instead of rolling with Adam?

She opened the back door and got in. “Take me home,” she grumbled. “And make it snappy.”

Tyler started to drive, the hard-style techno blaring.

“Would you turn that crap off?” Lucy demanded.

Tyler turned the music down, but not off. I heard a telltale rustle from the backseat. Lucy had placed a cigarette in her lips.

“No smoking, Lucy,” I said.

“Drop dead,” she grumbled, and searched her bag for a light.

Tyler looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Keep smoking and you’ll beat us to it.”

Lucy harrumphed as she pulled out a green plastic lighter and thumbed it. A flame shot up. She lit the cigarette, rolled the window halfway down, and exhaled. Cold November air rushed into the car. I tightened my red cashmere scarf around my neck.

“Could anything be more pathetic than this?” Lucy muttered. “Why are you chauffeuring people around on a Saturday night?”

“It’s my community-service requirement,” I said. “How was the party anyway?”

“Beside the huge fight I had with Adam?” Lucy said. “It sucked. Same old, same old, except for some FCC creeps. I so cannot wait for high school to end.”

We rode in silence until Lucy looked into the rearview mirror and caught Tyler’s eye. “I know you. You’re the one who wears that black trench coat and always sits by yourself at lunch. A regular social butterfly.”

Tyler stared back at her for what seemed longer than necessary. I felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. Like a starlet in one of those old black-and-white movies, Lucy was the beautiful blonde sitting in the shadows, smoking. The one who always got the hero. And knew what to do with him, too. Meanwhile, all I’d wanted all night was for Tyler to look at me the way he’d just looked at Lucy.

“Tyler, please watch where you’re going,” I said.

“You heard her, Tyler,” Lucy added from the back. “Be a good little boy; eyes on the road.”

A few moments later we stopped in front of Lucy’s house, a large white colonial rising up behind a broad swath of carefully manicured lawn, speckled with orange, yellow, and brown leaves.

Lucy got out without a “thank you” and banged the car door closed. She took a few steps up the path, then stopped and turned with an annoyed frown on her face.

I opened my window. “We’re supposed to make sure everyone goes inside.”

For no apparent reason other than pure orneriness, Lucy held up the lighter and lit a second cigarette, crossed her arms, and gazed up at the stars while she exhaled.

I closed the window and turned to Tyler. “Maybe we should go.”

“You sure?” he asked.

It was almost three in the morning and hard to imagine that Lucy was going anywhere except inside. I was tired and disappointed that nothing had developed with Tyler. Now I just wanted to get into bed. “She’s just being obstinate. I bet she’ll go inside the second we leave.”

We drove away, leaving Lucy standing in front of her house. Tyler turned the bad music back up. In no time it was giving me a headache.

“Tyler, I’m sorry to say this. Maybe it’s the time of night, and I’m just really drained, but that music is so hard to take,” I said. “Is it totally obnoxious of me to ask if you’d turn it down?”

“Not at all.” He turned it off. Not just down the way he had for Lucy. So maybe that was a hopeful sign and the evening wasn’t a total loss after all. I glanced at his profile and thought about his personality—independent, confident, and more worldly than most guys his age. He’d told me earlier that it had taken him two years of working after school to save up for his car. It was hard to think of anyone else I knew who’d bought his or her own car. In Soundview most of the kids got one from their parents the moment they passed their driver’s test.

“Make a right here,” I said with a yawn when we got to Bayside Way. Tyler turned onto the narrow road, passing driveways that disappeared into dark woods. I thought again about his “rich bitch” comment and wasn’t surprised that his forehead furrowed when we stopped at a small white guardhouse with a gate. With a cautious squint, the guard inside slid open the window and leaned forward, peering at the unfamiliar car. When he saw me in the passenger seat, a smile of relief appeared on his lips. “Oh, good evening, Miss Archer.”

“Hi, Joe,” I said.

The guard slid the window closed and raised the gate. Tyler drove through. “Miss Archer?” he repeated.

“It’s just a formality.”

“That’s his moonlighting job when he’s not being a cop?”

Surprised, I said, “How did you know he was a policeman?”

“I can smell ’em.”

“Sounds like you don’t like the police.”

Tyler didn’t respond. We were on Premium Point now, a gated community on a thin strip of land that jutted out into the Sound, lined with what could only be described as estates. Tyler drove slowly, peering at the dark silhouettes of vast lawns and large houses.

“I’m down at the end,” I said.

A moment later he stopped in the circular driveway and stared through the windshield at the vast stone facade of the place I called home. I had a feeling that he, too, was thinking back to his “rich bitch” comment. I felt bad. I’d had high hopes for us connecting this evening, even going so far as to fantasize ending it with a kiss. But maybe I’d hoped for too much. All we’d done was share a car for Safe Rides, which didn’t exactly qualify as a hot date.

“Thanks for driving me home.” I reached for my backpack.

“Wait.” Tyler turned to me. I looked back at him in the dark and felt a shiver of anticipation. Was he going to say that he liked me? That he had also been looking forward all week to this evening?

But all he said was, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He didn’t have to explain what he was sorry about. We both knew.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said. “It’s just … Things aren’t always what they seem, okay? Maybe not everyone who’s rich is a bitch.”

“I didn’t say they were,” Tyler said. “I only said Lucy was. I … I don’t think you’re a bitch at all. In fact, I think you’re pretty nice.”

“Thank you, Tyler,” I said, and thought, Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss after all.

I got out of the car and let myself through the heavy wooden door into the house, temporarily disabling the alarm system to give me time to get up to my room. Upstairs, even though I could barely keep my eyes open, it was impossible to go to bed without first checking my messages, and that was where I found the latest from PBleeker, my cyberstalker:

I once heard you say you hated how cliquey school was, but I bet you’d never go out with someone like me. You always act like you’re open-minded and sensitive, but I wonder if, just like everyone else, you judge people by their looks. I know you’re not stuck up like some of those other kids, because you’re always nice and talk to everyone. But how come you only hang out with the people in the most popular clique?

I shivered and turned away from my laptop, wishing that just this once I hadn’t checked my messages before going to bed. I once heard you say … You always act like … Was PBleeker someone who knew me that well, or was that just part of the mind game he (or was PBleeker a she?) played? All I knew was that for the past year, PBleeker’s presence in my life had become one more curse, like my period, college applications, and zits.