CHAPTER THREE

PSYCHOLOGY COULD BITE ME

SOFIA

          I was pretty certain I was only mere moments away from throwing up.

          After the absolute worst hours of my life, I assumed I had enough time to prepare for the assembly. Thus, I sat down at Meridian's desk and tried to put together some jumbled sentences which would, hopefully, turn into a wonderfully sentimental speech in case anyone asked me to say a few words about June. It was sort of unnerving to do it in his room, especially while he was sleeping in a puddle of his own tears, but I had to do it. I had to be prepared for whatever that assembly would throw at me.

          Except no words ever came out. 

          Okay, fine, I managed to write a few sentences, but they all felt so distant, as if June and I had never been best friends, and all I could talk about was how amazing of a ballerina she was or how she was certainly getting into Stanford. Those were minor details everyone knew about, and June was so, so much more than that.

          I eventually gave up and went back to bed, feeling like an abhorrent human being for an entire plethora of reasons. For example, my best friend had died, and I was unable to talk about her as a person instead of as assorted accomplishments. Secondly, I had just gotten into bed with her brother. We weren't even doing anything, and I was just comforting him like a friend would do, but a gnawing voice in the back of my mind wouldn't drop the subject.

          It wasn't the time to worry about my romantic feelings for Meridian Beaumont, regardless of how strong they were. We were both mourning June, whom we both loved dearly, and we needed someone to be there for us. That's all it was, and all that it could ever be.

          At some point in the afternoon, his parents came home. I was too much of a coward to face them and their grief, which was, undoubtedly, a million times bigger than mine (as though grieving was measurable and comparable across individuals), so I quickly snuck out through the window. I'd done it countless times from the windows in June's bedroom, so I knew exactly how to do it without getting hurt or being caught, but it was on a different side of the house, meaning I had to be extra careful.

          Meridian, like the true angel he was, helped me out, but not before softly brushing his lips against my forehead before I jumped. When I was out of their garden, he closed the blinds and I rushed back to my house, pretending not to notice how Grace's bicycle was still absent.

          I turned off my phone and refused to touch it throughout the remainder of the evening. My parents didn't try to drag me downstairs and force me to hang out with them, but they took turns visiting my room to check on me and bring me food at regular intervals—an afternoon snack and then dinner.

          I allowed myself to cry a bit more after the lights downstairs and across the hall were turned off, fearing the following hours would be even worse.

          When my alarm went off at six-thirty in the morning, I still hadn't slept. I'd spent the past hours either lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, or pacing around the room, scrolling through the hundreds of photos June and I had taken throughout the years.

          Besides being in the volleyball team, I also wrote for the school newspaper—I'd been doing so ever since Felix Cavalari was elected editor-in-chief halfway through sophomore year—and taking pictures had always been one of my favorite hobbies, even though I wasn't a professional by any means. I insisted on getting photographic evidence of everything; even though it wouldn't serve as a replacement for the memories in the short-term, I knew I'd appreciate having done it years from then.

          Those photos were all I had left of June now. It was the least painful way of hanging on to her, at least.

          Out of all the things I could—and should—be nervous about, I was particularly stressed about what I was going to wear. I even grabbed my phone, ready to text June photos of all my options, but that was quickly shot down when my stomach tightened. Asking Meridian clearly wasn't a valid option either, as I was certain he wanted to destroy his phone after what he'd told me (even though I didn't think, not even for a second, that he was to blame for June's death), and he needed to spend time with his family.

          So, I tried Xena. Xena Kant was the daughter of not one, but two fashion designers—Sienna and Phoebe Kant—and always knew what to wear for every occasion, no matter how unspecific or specific it was. Her wardrobe mostly consisted of pastel colors, which I highly doubted I could pull off, but that was where my doubts lay.

          If I wore all black to the assembly, people could think I was trying too hard and shifting the focus back to me while stealing it from June. On the other hand, if I wore less black than what was considered socially acceptable and expectable, people would think I wasn't grieving enough.

          Outfit number two received the Kant stamp of approval. It was a simple black dress, with three-quarter sleeves, an open neckline and a hem that reached my mid-thigh, and I had paired it with sheer black tights (because my mom would never let me leave the house with bare legs in October, even though we lived in California), a light-pink cardigan to soften the look and a pair of black ankle boots. June's necklace hung from my neck, and I wore it with pride.

          I'd showered, gotten dressed, done my makeup and my hair, and eaten breakfast. The easiest part of my day was done.

          Around seven-fifteen, I ducked out of the front door after kissing my parents goodbye, just as I would normally do on any school day, except June wasn't waiting for me and I wasn't running across the street to get into her car, either. The changes in my routine seemed insignificant—and I supposed they were, on the greater specter of things—but what truly hurt was the meaning those changes carried with them.

          Meridian was getting out of the house as well. I didn't expect him to go back to college so soon, but I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't want to stop living his life . . . even while simultaneously acknowledging he deserved a break. I could never convince him of that, considering he was as stubborn as a mule, but this beat sitting around and moping at home.

          He saw me and waved, like it was no big deal. Then, he got inside his BMW and drove away. Just like that.

          "Sofia!"

          I turned around. For whatever reason, Grace stood a few feet away from me and, similarly to yours truly, she, too, didn't wear all black. I knew Christina would, but that was just how she dressed on a daily basis; she used to joke that, when she was born, the nurses had wrapped her in black towels and that had been the beginning of the end. Christina Desai had always had a penchant for drama, but we loved her for it—Grace more than all of us combined, and that was saying a lot.

          "Hey," I greeted, and she stopped in front of me.

          She made no attempts to step forward to hug me or set a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I stayed perfectly still as well. It wasn't because I didn't like her or anything remotely similar; Grace wasn't a big fan of public displays of affection and that included friendly hugs, but I wasn't sure whether that applied to supporting friends during a period of grief.

          "Can I ride with you to school today?" she questioned.

          I clenched my car keys in my fist. "Sure." She was an entire inch taller than me, but I was wearing heels and she wasn't, so I could get an almost clear view of her front yard. "What happened to your bike?"

          Her face paled. "It's a long story. It's not a long ride to school." She tugged at a loose strand of her black cotton sweater. "Besides, it can wait until after the assembly, once we've all had a moment to breathe."

          My lungs weren't working properly. There was no air in them as I unlocked my car and gestured towards it with my head, never finding the strength to speak. Grace followed me inside without uttering another word, and neither of us tried to make small talk during the ride to school. For that, I was grateful; I didn't know if I could take someone else handling me like a fragile, porcelain doll.

          One thing I loved about Grace was that she didn't try to sugarcoat things. Her bluntness was what made me trust her as much as I did, and she did everything I expected her to: she never tried to tell me it would be okay and that June was in a better place now, or something.

          I didn't give a damn if it was selfish of me. There was no better place than the world of the living.

          People stared at us when we got to school. Even though it was normal—and if it had happened to anyone else, we'd be staring at their friends as well—it didn't make it any easier, but it served as motivation to get through the day quicker.

          Our friends had waited for us, probably because there was strength in numbers, and no one wanted to be the first to enter the gym on their own. Grace quickly met up with Christina and Felix had an arm around a quietly weeping Xena (they weren't together, though it could fool everyone else), whereas I didn't have anyone in particular to turn to. Courtney, who stood by herself, stood on her toes to wrap her arms around my neck in a tight hug, her pink hair tickling my nose, and I tried to not think about how we were missing two people.

          I couldn't blame Leon if he'd decided to stay home, but part of me wished he'd let us help him. I was unable to conceptualize the pain and the heartache he was going through, but I knew my own, which had to count for something.

          We occupied our seats in the gym in silence, ignoring all the whispering. I sat very still, fearing I'd break as soon as I moved when I wasn't supposed to, and I desperately wanted someone to tell me this had all been nothing more than a joke—a cruel, vile joke, but nothing serious. June couldn't be dead.

          It wasn't fair.

          When the doors opened again, after what had felt like an eternity, Principal Kapoor entered the gym, and all the voices were cut off as though someone had cast a silencing spell. Leon Matthias trailed after him and I sprung up from my seat as soon as our eyes met, counting the steps until he was close enough to me to hear my voice.

          "Leon," I began, but he wasn't having it.

          "Don't want to hear it," he groaned, and sprinted up the stairs of the bleachers, occupying a seat as far away as the empty chairs allowed him to. Defeated, I fell back to my own plastic chair and thanked past me for having remembered to wear waterproof mascara.

LEON

          When I woke up, I decided crying wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't make things easier, it wouldn't make the torturous ache in my chest hurt any bit less, and it certainly wouldn't bring June back, so that was something I wouldn't be wasting my precious time on.

          My parents didn't agree with my approach, but they didn't need to. I didn't need their approval; that strategy had been working relatively well for me so far, and I was determined to keep things as stable as possible. They kept arguing I had the right to be upset (I was), that it was okay to cry (maybe it was, but not for me), and that June wouldn't want to see me like this (to hell with them if they knew what June wanted).

          It was easier that way. Psychology said I couldn't keep things bottled up inside me for too long because they'd, inevitably, burst out of my chest, but psychology could bite me.

          So, when I dragged myself to school on the morning of the assembly Principal Kapoor wanted to hold, to explain what had happened to the student body—as if news didn't travel at the speed of sound in Palo Alto, California—I knew I had to channel all my energy into pretending I didn't give a damn. The problem was that I gave plenty of damns because my girlfriend was dead and I had a bunch of text messages from her from that night to taunt me, but no one needed to know that.

          I just wanted to know why. Of course I, like everyone else, wanted to know what had happened and how she died, but, most importantly, I wanted to know why in the world June was in a motel room. I was assuming she was alone, refusing to think about any other possibilities, but, if someone had been there with her, I needed to know.

          You know, just to talk and demand some answers to my pressing questions—namely, why didn't you try to save her? Why didn't you try to do what I was supposed to do?

          I followed Principal Kapoor to the gym. He'd thrown me a sad smile, said he was sorry for my loss, and I'd simply nodded. While I didn't doubt he was sad over June's death, there were hundreds of students at our school and, in the end, she was just one out of all of them to him. Soon, he wouldn't think about it. He wasn't losing sleep over it, either.

          I couldn't afford such a luxury.

          They were already sitting inside, occupying the front row of seats like the picture-perfect group of friends they were, and I found myself wondering if June had tried to contact any of them on the night she died, or if it had been just me. I didn't know what to do with the information I had, especially since I hadn't found the courage to open her texts yet, and, as soon as they knew about it, they'd instantly launch into rehearsed speeches of pity.

          I didn't need those. I didn't need them.

          Sofia looked up, and I didn't look away in time. She stood from her chair, as if she had been expecting me, and I knew I'd snap at her if she even attempted to be cordial or supportive. It was stupid and childish, but I couldn't risk it.

          "Leon," she called, when I walked past her, and I caught a glimpse of her phone. She was texting Meridian, because of course she was, and I was not going to deal with that.

          "Don't want to hear it," I retorted, and pretended I hadn't seen anyone else. People stared at me as I made my way up the rows of plastic chairs and parted to let me through and sit down as well. When I did, I saw Xena lean forward and comfortingly pat Sofia's back, because of course she couldn't handle not being the center of attention for once.

          Even after June had died, things still had to be about Sofia and her feelings, or whatever. No one there shot a concerned glance towards me, even though we were in an assembly about my dead girlfriend; instead, they all gravitated around Sofia, who, in their heads, was the only person who got to be heartbroken.

          Bullshit.

          Then, Principal Kapoor began to talk and explained what we were doing there and why classes had been canceled yesterday. As soon as he uttered the words 'Juniper Beaumont has passed away', the previously silent gym was, once again, full of fake shocked gasps and mindless blabbering. They all pretended they didn't know, the hypocrites.

          He struggled to regain control of the situation, which was only accomplished when Felix Cavalari, our dearest valedictorian, junior prom king, editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, professional kiss-ass, stood up and ordered everyone to be quiet. I could have done that, knowing they would have listened to me because the last name Matthias still had some power in Palo Alto, but I didn't.

          I could have answered June's texts, but I hadn't.

          "Guys, please," Felix asked, raising his voice above the whispering, "let's all calm down."

          It took him a while, but he got the job done. I had to sit through forty-five minutes of Principal Kapoor talking about fundraisers to help pay for June's funeral—not that her parents needed the money—tributes from the school clubs, and assorted memorials. The girls next to me cried quietly, sniffling, and I tried to tune them out. They didn't even know June.

          I bolted out of the gym as soon as the assembly ended, not caring about who I had to shove out of my way. I'd only been at school for around an hour, and I had already started counting the minutes left until I could go home and wallow in self-pity. The group followed me outside and, no matter how hard I tried to swerve around the crowd, I couldn't.

          Something caught my attention, though. I wished I hadn't heard any parts of their conversation, as they could ask me to join them if they spotted me, but I couldn't help but overhear Grace and Christina mention that June had texted them on the night she died—just like she had done to me.

          It couldn't be just a coincidence.

          "Wait, what?" I chimed in, and Grace looked up. "She texted you?"

          She raised her chin. "And what about it?"

          "She texted me, too." Christina gulped and I stepped into the gap between Courtney and Xena, as it was wide enough to fit me. "Was it just the three of us?"

          "No," Xena replied. "I got it too."

          "Me too," Felix said.

          "Me three," Courtney completed, and turned to Sofia. "Sof?"

          Sofia shook her head. "I got nothing. She, um . . ." She took a deep breath. "Meridian said she called him but left no texts or voice messages."

          "Okay, now this is getting creepy," Xena commented.

          Tell me about it.

rip guys i know this is super rushed but you know. a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do & since i got the max grade on my psychoanalytical theory and clinic final . . . u kno. one would assume i'm super into psychoanalysis, but i hate it, which is super ironic all things considered.

faria verdensrommet made me dedicate this to her