Page 31 of What You Left Me

Aminah and Cameron solve a magazine crossword puzzle with a startling lack of bickering, passing the glossy page back and forth with penciled-in answers, knowing they could use pen but not bothering to show off. Since we listened to Turrey’s voicemail and rushed back to the hospital, they’ve become unreadable. They’re waiting too. Waiting to find the right time to corner me.

Katie’s crying dies out. Her husband pulls out his iPad and props it on his knees. They share a set of earbuds. She rests her head on his neck. What they’re watching must not matter much. They both blankly stare at their handheld movie theater.

Daniel twists around pieces of my hair, avoiding eye contact with Turrey while still engaging him in conversation.

“How’s your toe?” Turrey asks. “Is it broken?”

“False alarm,” Daniel responds, tugging so hard on a clump of my hair that my eyes water.

Aminah told him her lie on the way over, and Daniel screamed for thirty seconds straight, almost turning the car around.

“I couldn’t find your ring,” Turrey tells me.

My arm jerks involuntarily, and Brooke makes a long squiggle near my wrist. “No worries. I think I just left it at home,” I mutter.

Mr. McGee walks in, swallowing up every bit of space in my lungs on presence alone. The whole room takes a collective breath.

He walks over to Katie and whispers something in her ear. Her iPad falls on the carpet. They rush out of the room.

No one moves.

No one blinks.

No one exhales.

This can’t be the end.

Martin can’t be gone.

Part Two

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Spencer throws the White Whale into park and makes a break for it, sprinting around the side of the high school to reach the football field. An amplified voice projects names through the loudspeaker.

“Jude Banning,” the voice calls out to light applause.

Spencer slows down. They’re only on the letterB. He has plenty of time before it’s his turn to be done with high school. The warmth of the sun against his face feels so good he stops and closes his eyes. The world burns red beneath his eyelids.

Red. Like blood.

Time hiccups.

Blood on Fly. Blood on Spencer. Blood on the pavement. Blood on his van.

Time jumps backward.

The White Whale cruises down a wide open side street, nearing an intersection. Spencer looks to Fly, who doesn’t have his hand out the passenger window like he should. What is he doing? Why is he staring at Spencer with wild, panicked eyes?

“I’m back,” Fly says, marveling at his hands and body like they are new. “I’m back!” His excitement quickly changes into panic as he realizes where he is. “Spitty, stop it!” he cries out. “Think of something else!”

There is nothing else to think of.

Crash. Smack.

I killed my best friend.

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