Nearly Gone - Nearly Gone Part 51
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Nearly Gone Part 51

"I'm not smart like you." The pathetic whine seemed out of character with her tough-girl face. She wrestled a finger under the dog collar at her throat, like she was loosening a tie. Or a noose. I closed my eyes and shook off the thought, but not before seeing the mud-colored hickey behind the leather band.

"You are smart," I lied, unable to stop staring at the bruise on her neck. Kylie lived a few doors down from my trailer. She was seventeen and already a rent-a-girl. She'd be lucky to finish school at all, much less pass this test. "You can pass this," I said anyway. "You just have to memorize a few simple equations." And stop letting losers suck away your future.

Kylie smeared the black stream under her eyes with her sleeve. "You're really nice. I don't believe anything people are saying about you," she said between sniffles. "I mean, not the bad stuff. You don't seem like the type."

I stiffened. "What bad stuff ?"

"You know, all that stuff about how you think you're so much better than the rest of us just because you're smart. I think it's cool that you're smart. Gives the rest of us a reason to hope, right? Everyone's talking about you maybe getting some big scholarship-that you might make it out of the park. I hope you do." She smiled. It was a sad smile, like the corners of her mouth had to fight to pick themselves up.

I wasn't sure what to say. I was used to people talking about me, but not like this. Usually, the comments felt like hands grabbing at my ankles, dragging me back down into the slag. I'd never thought anyone in the park would care enough to offer a push from below. Like it might lighten their burdens if just one of us could make it out.

"Thanks." I took one last look at her neck, feeling protective for reasons I didn't want to think about. Her face flushed, splotchy and streaked. She fidgeted with her dog collar, pulling it up to conceal the mark, ashamed-the same way my mother tugged up the collar of her robe. Kylie would be someone else's Mona someday. "I hope you do too."

She looked down at the desk. "Can I give you one piece of advice?" Her brow lined with thoughtful creases. "Lonny says you're seeing that new kid, Reece?"

I nodded, feeling a little more cautious now that I knew who'd been sucking the life out of her.

"Be careful," she said. "Boys like him . . ." Kylie cocooned her hands in the cuffs of her sleeves. I wondered what secrets she was hiding under them. "Just be careful."

I wanted to tell her the same, but I couldn't. Not without saying too much. So I changed the subject instead.

"What are you doing on Friday night, to celebrate after the test?" I asked casually, as if I wasn't so anxious to know the answer. As if her life didn't depend on it.

32.

Both Posie's and Teddy's funerals took place on Wednesday, one after the other, and the school announced a liberal absence policy for those who wished to attend. I didn't wish to. I wanted them both to be alive and well. But I'd go.

That morning, I fished in Mona's closet for a simple black blouse and paired it with a pair of black jeans. My only shoes were my sneakers, but no one would see them if they were tucked under the pews.

I dropped some change in my pocket and walked to the bus stop at the end of Sunny View Drive. The clear plastic shelter felt like a magnifying glass in the sun, and I stood beside it, with my toes on the curb. A car slid to a slow stop at my feet. I looked up and saw Anh's face in the passenger-side window of Jeremy's Civic. The glass rolled down. She was perfectly polished in a sleeveless black sheath and a strand of delicate pink pearls. Her nails were painted pale pink to match and in her small hands, she held an elegant black clutch that shone like her patent leather heels. She said nothing about my jeans and sneakers. Just looked at me with a sad smile.

On her other side, Jeremy wore a dress shirt and tie, and looked hard at the steering wheel.

"You shouldn't go alone," Anh said quietly. "Get in. We'll take you."

The city bus rolled to a noisy stop behind the Civic, a trail of suffocating exhaust blowing over me. The air brake released and the bus doors swung open, but the choice Anh was offering didn't feel like a choice at all. I knew they were going to the funerals, same as I was, but they looked like a matched pair, and I felt like I was crashing their date. But if I took the bus, I'd seem ungrateful.

I pulled open the Civic door and scrunched myself into the backseat. "Thanks."

We rode to Posie's family's church in silence. Neither of them asked the questions I knew must be on their minds. Why my mentees? Why me? Because how can you ask a question like that without it sounding like some kind of accusation? So instead, they said nothing.

I sat beside Anh in the back of the church with my hands tucked under me, and my legs folded tight at the ankle. Jeremy sat on her other side, her leg crossed at the knee, angled toward his. She cried silently into a clean lace hanky. My own tears slid steadily down over my chin.

When it was over, Posie's family took up quiet places beside her open casket. The receiving line moved slowly, relatives and students pausing to hug or shake hands with her parents. I wiped my palms over my jeans as we neared the front of the line, made an excuse about needing to use the bathroom, and waited outside until it was over.

Silent and numb, we loaded into Jeremy's car and followed a caravan of students to Teddy's graveside service on the other side of town. We stood on the outside edge of a large circle of mourners. The soccer team was there to acknowledge the loss of their water boy. Vince stood tall in a dark designer suit, hands folded and head bowed. I watched, bitter, as he approached Teddy's mother and reached for her hand. He held it while he spoke to her, paying day late respects to her lost son, a kid he never had a kind word for until he was lying in a hole.

As if reading my thoughts, Jeremy shook his head and whispered, "Amazing, isn't it? How they all see him now?" He watched the endless receiving line with a look of fascination. His hand wandered to his chest where his camera would normally be.

Anh took a deep, shaky breath and rested her head on Jeremy's shoulder. The thought of getting in the backseat of Jeremy's car again was unbearable. When I walked away from the service, across the cemetery, I was pretty sure neither of them noticed.

It was dusk when I got off the city bus and stared down the potholed mouth of Sunny View. Every inch of me felt heavy, and I walked slowly toward home. Music blared from Lonny Johnson's trailer, and strange cars lined both sides of the street. Kylie hung over the railing of his front porch.

"Boswell!" she called, heavy-lidded and unsteady on her feet. "Come party with us!" After two funerals, I didn't have the energy to shout back. I half smiled and kept walking. "Come on," she sang loudly after me. "Your boyfriend's here!"

I slowed and looked at the line of parked cars, finding Reece's motorcycle wedged in it. I hesitated, unsure, and glanced back at my own trailer. The shades were drawn tight. Mona might not notice. Even so, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than step foot inside Lonny Johnson's front door. But how would it look to him if I turned away now?

Lonny's door flung open and Reece stepped out, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He held a beer can in his hand, laughing and talking with one of Kylie's friends, a bleach-blonde with dark roots and heavy eye makeup, and boobs too big for her frame. Kylie elbowed him hard in the ribs and jerked her chin at me. Reece's eyes found mine and his face sobered. He handed the blonde his beer without looking at her. Then he flicked his cigarette and directed his exhale to the ground in a move that looked entirely too practiced.

"Leigh, wait up," he called, but I was already walking. He vaulted the porch rail and caught me halfway down the street. "Leigh, wait."

I made it two steps before Reece grabbed my wrist and dragged me behind my neighbor's trailer, out of sight of Kylie and her friend. I swayed a little at the touch of his fingers on my skin, my lips tingling and my head suddenly light. He stopped short, pulling me in close, steadying us both. He was drunk. I ripped my hand from his, bracing myself against the trailer while I waited for the fog in my head to clear. His face was flushed and he looked at me with glassy eyes. "I can explain."

"You don't need to explain. I know who you are."

"Do you? Because that would make one of us." He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to sober himself.

I stepped back. He was entirely too close. No good could come of this conversation. "I'm tired, Reece. I just came from two funerals. All I want is to go home."