Some Quiet Place

The ice cream is melting in my hand, so I lick it quickly.

I stare down at the girl in that casket, feeling my nothingness dig a deeper hole inside of me. “She was often a counselor when her friends came to her in need,” Pastor Mike intones. Wrong, wrong. I was Maggie’s only friend. I never went to her for counsel. I never went to her at all.

Fear’s words come back to me: You’re a coward.

Doesn’t he know that if I really could, I would mourn my best friend? It’s not a choice, no matter what anyone believes.

As if my thoughts have summoned him, suddenly Fear is here, walking through the crowd of black like he belongs. Maybe he does. Apparently the threat at Sophia’s party is no longer a concern. I sense him coming up behind me. The crows on the gravestones hush.

“Look at her,” Fear murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing my skin. I turn to face him, but he wraps his hands tightly around my arms, forcing me to stay where I am. “No. Look at her, Elizabeth.”

He shouldn’t be here. Not now. I focus on Maggie’s face again, not really seeing it.

“Listen to me,” Fear breathes, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. “I want you to look at your best friend. She’s dead, Elizabeth. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. You were with her when all the life left her body; you saw every single one of her memories fade. Everything you two ever went through, every experience you ever had.” Somehow he thinks of the exact day I’d been thinking of earlier and uses it against me. “Remember all the times she bought you ice cream because you had no money? Do you remember when Maggie dragged you to the homecoming game, and after everyone left you two sat in the middle of the field and looked at the stars? She told you everything. You told her nothing. She sensed that, but she didn’t care. She always thought you would open up to her one day—”

“Stop.”

I hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but my voice slices through the still air. Pastor Mike does stop, staring at me expectantly. Someone coughs in the crowd. I can feel Tim stiffening. John—Maggie’s dad—turns around to look at me, and as his gaze settles on my face, it softens. It’s that expression that makes me realize something. Something bizarre; it doesn’t make sense.

I’m crying.

Fear leans down, kissing my neck with his cool lips. He’s accomplished what he came to do. “You will feel. I’m going to make sure of it,” he promises. He leaves me there, sending a chilly breeze over the funeral. Some shiver.

“Did you have something to say?” Pastor Mike prompts, eyebrows raised. It’s strange—his eyebrows are gray and his hair is black. Obviously dyed.

There are so many things I could say at this moment. So many words, meanings, memories, opportunities to make up for areas I’ve disappointed.

I just shake my head, backing away from the casket. I wipe away the strange tears with the back of my dark sleeve. “No, nothing to say. Sorry,” I mumble.

The pastor eyes me, then seems to mentally shrug. “Everyone loved her and will truly miss her,” he finishes, snapping the Bible shut with a thump.

I sit in the barn loft with a pad of paper and a pen. The bale of hay pokes at my bottom and legs, but I hardly notice. Mora is restless below; she snaps at another cow. I tap, tap, tap my way into nothing. No rhymes come to mind, not even free verse. Everything I think is numb and shallow … there’s just no inspiration to be found inside of me, and there lies the problem.

Something nesting in the ceiling beams flutters, and the faint tang of perspiration dots the air. Terror. A scream sounds through the loft a second later.

I lift my head from the palm of my hand, calling out, “Fear?”

He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s nearby. He’s avoiding me and my questions about the night of Sophia’s party, but at the same time he wants to be near. “You can’t have it both ways,” I say distractedly, pursing my lips in contemplation. Hiding. Pretending. Protecting oneself. I just have to start—that’s the first step.

There are different kinds of hiding.

My handwriting is neat on the page. Fear remains uncharacteristically hushed, and I know he doesn’t plan to come to me tonight. Which means not only is he avoiding me, but he knows something he desperately refuses to tell me. Something arrived at the party that night, something that sent all the Emotions and Elements running. What could it possibly be? It doesn’t matter—the truth will probably come out one way or another, and if not, I’m no worse for wear.

I bring my knees up to my chest, becoming a ball. The paper rustles and I smooth it out, my fingers tracing the edges. There are different kinds of hiding. I hide, I protect, I pretend. I will not go down in history for my poetry, but my promise to Joshua will be fulfilled; I will finish what I’ve started.

Will you? my little voice taunts.

I remember Sarah’s pain as she asked me if I knew where her daughter was. Maggie letting her optimism crumble toward the end, lying there in that bed. Fear’s impossible infatuation. Joshua’s innocence.

I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about the kids I see every day. How many of them have secrets they keep from the rest of the world? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical.

Thinking about his words makes me think about Joshua himself. He, too, has been avoiding me. He doesn’t look at me in class. He passes me in the hall without a greeting of any kind. He’s guarded after what he saw at Sophia’s party, after what I said to him on the steps. Just another person in Edson who knows what I am: something strange and unnatural. A freak.

I made a mistake, saving him and Susie that night. If I know anything about the world, things happen the way they’re supposed to. I interfered in an event that should have taken place. Even the rebellious Emotions can follow the rules I’ve broken.

An event …

What if Rebecca warned me against going to the party because she was afraid something specific would take place? Something specific like me losing control. Was there a chance she knew I would reveal an ability I shouldn’t have, an ability I never knew I had until that night? But what if I hadn’t broken any rules? Maybe I’d been … meant to interfere. For reasons I don’t know, maybe I was supposed to stop Joshua from being hurt …

I set my unfinished poem aside and stand.

Too many questions, not enough answers.

My truck rumbles into the school parking lot. As I reach for my bag in the passenger seat, I notice Sophia Richardson glaring at me. She’s probably been making plans to get back at me for a few days now.

The first bell is already ringing inside. I haul the bag onto my back and start jogging to make it on time.

Just as I reach the front doors a shadow looms across me, and I turn my head to meet Joshua’s intense gaze.

I’ve been expecting this.

“Not now,” I say, stepping past him. “We have to get to class.”

There’s no trace of the shy, uncertain boy when he sticks his arm out to block my path. “You owe me this,” he says sharply.

Two girls rush by, hardly noticing Joshua and me as they skirt around. It’s as if neither of us is actually here.

I yield, stepping away from the doors. “How do I owe you anything?” I question.

“Because I believe in you,” Joshua tells me simply. The bizarre statement causes my nothingness to twinge.

After a moment of consideration, I nod. “Okay. I’m listening.”

This boy I’ve known most of my life takes my arm gently, leading me away from the doors so no teacher sees us. He pulls me around the side of the building, under the shade of some oak trees.

“We both know what happened the night of the party,” he starts. He folds his arms across his chest in a resolute stance, and once again I notice the rubber band around his wrist.

“Why do you wear that?” I ask abruptly, motioning at it.

Joshua blinks. “What?”

“The rubber band,” I clarify. “Why do you wear it?”