Before I Fall Part 5

Elody puts on "Splinter," by Fallacy, to p.i.s.s Ally off, maybe because she's sick of her whining. Ally calls her a b.i.t.c.h and unbuckles her seat belt, leaning forward and trying to grab the iPod. Lindsay complains that someone is elbowing her in the neck. The cigarette drops from her mouth and lands between her thighs. She starts cursing and trying to brush the embers off the seat cus.h.i.+on, and Elody and Ally are still fighting and I'm trying to talk over them, reminding them all of the time we made snow angels in May. The clock ticks forward: 12:39. The tires skid a little on the wet road and the car is full of cigarette smoke, little wisps rising like phantoms in the air.

Then all of a sudden there's a flash of white in front of the car. Lindsay yells something-words I can't make out, something like sit sit or or s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t or or sight sight-and suddenly the car is flipping off the road and into the black mouth of the woods. I hear a horrible, screeching sound-metal on metal, gla.s.s shattering, a car folding in two-and smell fire. I have time to wonder whether Lindsay had put out her cigarette- And then-

That's when it happens. The moment of death is full of heat and sound and pain bigger than anything, a funnel of burning heat splitting me in two, something searing and scorching and tearing, and if screaming were a feeling it would be this.

Then nothing.

I know some of you are thinking maybe I deserved it. Maybe I shouldn't have sent that rose to Juliet or dumped my drink on her at the party. Maybe I shouldn't have copied off Lauren Lornet's quiz. Maybe I shouldn't have said those things to Kent. There are probably some of you who think I deserved it because I was going to let Rob go all the way-because I wasn't going to save myself.

But before you start pointing fingers, let me ask you: is what I did really so bad? So bad I deserved to die? So bad I deserved to die like that? that?

Is what I did really so much worse than what anybody else does?

Is it really so much worse than what you you do? do?

Think about it.

TWO.

In my dream I know I am falling though there is no up or down, no walls or sides or ceilings, just the sensation of cold, and darkness everywhere. I am so scared I could scream, but when I open my mouth nothing happens, and I wonder if you fall forever and ever and never touch down, is it really still falling?

I think I will fall forever.

A noise punctuates the silence, a thin bleating growing louder and louder until it is like a scythe of metal slicing the air, slicing into me- Then I wake up.

My alarm has been blaring for twenty minutes. It's six fifty A.M. A.M.

I sit up in bed, pus.h.i.+ng away the comforter. I'm covered with sweat even though my room is cold. My throat is dry and I'm desperate for water, like I've just been running a long way.

For a second when I look around the room everything seems fuzzy and slightly distorted, like I'm not really looking at my room but only at a transparency of my room that's been laid down incorrectly so the corners don't match up with the real thing. Then the light s.h.i.+fts and everything looks normal again.

All at once it comes back to me, and blood starts pounding in my head: the party, Juliet Sykes, the argument with Kent- "Sammy!" My door swings open, banging once against the wall, and Izzy comes galloping across the room, stepping all over my notebooks and discarded jeans and my Victoria's Secret Team Pink sweats.h.i.+rt. Something seems wrong; something skirts the edges of my memory, but then it is gone and Izzy is bouncing on my bed, throwing her arms around me. They are hot. She curls a fist around the necklace I always wear-a thin gold chain with a tiny bird charm hanging from it, a gift from my grandmother-and tugs gently.

"Mommy says you have to get up." Her breath smells like peanut b.u.t.ter, and it's not until I push her off me that I realize how badly I'm shaking.

"It's Sat.u.r.day," I say. I have no idea how I got home last night. I have no idea what happened to Lindsay or Elody or Ally, and just thinking about it makes me sick.

Izzy starts giggling like a maniac and bounces off the bed, scurrying back toward the door. She disappears down the hallway, and I hear her call out, "Mommy, Sammy won't get up!" She says my name: Thammy Thammy.

"Don't make me come up there, Sammy!" My mom's voice echoes from the kitchen.

I put my feet on the ground. The feel of the cold wood rea.s.sures me. When I was younger I would lie on the floor all summer when my dad refused to turn the air-conditioning on; it was the only place that stayed cool. I'm tempted to do the same thing now. I feel feverish.

Rob, the rain, the sound of bottles shattering in the woods- My phone chimes, making me jump. I reach over and flip it open. There's a new text from Lindsay.

I'm outside. Where r u?

I snap my phone shut quickly but not before I see the date blinking up at me: Friday, February 12.

Yesterday.

Another chime. Another text.

Don't make me l8 on Cupid Day, beeyatch!!!

I suddenly feel like I'm moving underwater, like I'm weightless, or watching myself from a distance. I try to stand up, but when I do my stomach bottoms out and I have to rush to the bathroom in the hall, legs shaking, certain I'm going to throw up. I lock the door and turn on the water in both the sink and the shower. Then I stand over the toilet.

My stomach clenches on itself, but nothing comes up.

The car, the skidding, the screams- Yesterday.

I hear voices in the hallway, but the water's rus.h.i.+ng so hard I can't make them out. It's not until someone starts pounding on the door that I straighten up and yell, "What?"

"Get out of the shower. There's no time." It's Lindsay-my mom's let her in.

I crack the door a little and there she is, her big puffy jacket zipped to her chin, looking p.i.s.sed. I'm happy to see her, anyway. She looks so normal, so familiar.

"What happened last night?" I say.

She frowns for a second. "Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn't call back. I didn't get off the phone with Patrick until, like, three A.M. A.M."

"Call back?" I shake my head. "No, I meant-"

"He was freaking out over the fact that his parents are going to Acapulco without him." She rolls her eyes. "Poor baby. I swear to you, Sam, guys are like pets. Feed 'em, pet 'em, and put 'em to bed." She leans forward. "Speaking of which-are you excited about tonight?" of which-are you excited about tonight?"

"What?" I don't even know what she's talking about. Her words are all running past me, blurring together. I'm holding on to the towel rack, afraid I'll fall over. The shower is on way too hot and there's thick steam everywhere, clouding up the mirror, condensing on the tiles.

"You, Rob, some Miller Lite, and his flannel sheets." She laughs. "Very romantic."

"I have to shower." I try to close the door, but she wedges her elbow in at the last second and pushes into the bathroom.

"You haven't showered yet?" She shakes her head. "Uh-uh. No way. You'll have to do without."

She reaches into the shower and turns off the water, then grabs me by the hand and drags me into the hallway.

"You definitely need some makeup, though," she says, scanning my face. "You look like s.h.i.+t. Nightmares?"

"Something like that."

"I have my MAC stuff in the Tank." She unzips her coat and I see a white tuft of fur peeking out from her cleavage: our Cupid Day tank tops. I suddenly have the urge to sit down on the floor and laugh and laugh, and I have to struggle not to have a fit right there while Lindsay's shoving me into my room.

"Get dressed," she says, and pulls out her cell phone, probably to text Elody we're going to be late. She watches me for a second and then sighs, turning away.

"Hope Rob doesn't mind a little BO," she says, and as she giggles over this, I start pulling on my clothes: the tank top, the skirt, the boots.

Again.

DOES THIS STRAITJACKET MAKE MY b.u.t.t LOOK BIG?.

When Elody gets into the car she leans forward to grab her coffee, and the smell of her perfume-raspberry body spray she still buys religiously from the Body Shop in the mall, even though it stopped being cool in seventh grade-is so real and sharp and familiar I have to close my eyes, overwhelmed.

Bad idea. With my eyes shut I see the beautiful warm lights of Kent's house receding in the rearview mirror and the sleek black trees crowding on either side of us like skeletons. I smell burning. I hear Lindsay yelling and feel my stomach bottom out as the car lurches to one side, tires squealing- "s.h.i.+t."

I snap my eyes open as Lindsay swerves to avoid a squirrel. She chucks her cigarette out the window and the smell of smoke is strangely double: I'm not sure whether I'm smelling it or remembering it or both.

"You really are the worst driver." Elody giggles.

"Be careful, please," I mutter. I'm clutching the sides of my seat without meaning to.

"Don't worry." Lindsay leans over and pats my knee. "I won't let my best friend die a virgin."

I'm desperate to spill everything to Lindsay and Elody at that moment, to ask them what's happening to me-to us-but I can't think of any way to say it.

We were in a car accident after a party that hasn't happened yet.

I thought I died yesterday. I thought I died tonight. tonight.

Elody must think I'm quiet because I'm worried about Rob. She loops her arms around the back of my seat and leans forward.

"Don't worry, Sam. You'll be fine. It's just like riding a bike," Elody says.

I try to force a smile, but I can barely focus. It seems like a long time ago that I went to bed imagining being side-by-side with Rob, imagining the feel of his cool, dry hands. Thinking about him makes me ache, and my throat threatens to close up. I suddenly can't wait to see him, can't wait to see his crooked smile and his Yankees hat and even his dirty fleece that always smells a little bit like boy sweat, even after his mom makes him wash it.

"It's like riding a horse," Lindsay corrects Elody. "You'll be a blue-ribbon champion in no time, Sammy."

"I always forget you used to ride horses." Elody flips open the lid of her coffee and blows steam off the top.

"When I was, like, seven," I say, before Lindsay can turn this into a joke. I think if she starts making fun of me now I really will cry. I could never explain the truth to her: that riding was my favorite thing in the world. I loved to be alone in the woods, especially in the late fall when everything is crisp and golden, the leaves the color of fire, and it smells like things turning into earth. I loved the silence-the only sound the steady drum of the hooves and the horse's breathing.

No phones. No laughter. No voices. No houses.

No cars.

I've flipped the visor down to keep the glare out of my eyes, and in the mirror I see Elody smiling at me. Maybe I'll tell her what's happening to me Maybe I'll tell her what's happening to me, I think, but at the same time I know that I won't. She would think I was crazy. They all would.

I keep quiet and look out the window. The light is weak and watery-looking, like the sun has just spilled itself over the horizon and is too lazy to clean itself up. The shadows are as sharp and pointed as needles. I watch three black crows take off simultaneously from a telephone wire and wish I could take off too, move up, up, up, and watch the ground drop away from me the way it does when you're on an airplane, folding and compressing into itself like an origami figure, until everything is flat and brightly colored-until the whole world is like a drawing of itself.

"Theme song, please," Lindsay says, and I scroll through her iPod until I find the Mary J. Blige, then lean back and try not to think of anything except the music and the beat.

And I keep my eyes open.

By the time we pull into the drive that winds past the upper parking area and down to the faculty lot and Senior Alley, I'm actually feeling better, even though Lindsay's cursing and Elody's complaining that one more tardy will get her Friday detention and it's already two minutes after first bell.

Everything looks so normal normal. I know that because it's Friday, Emma McElroy will be coming from Evan Danzig's house, and sure enough there she is, ducking through a clipped portion of the fence. I know Peter Kourt will be wearing a pair of Nike Air Force 1s he's had for a million years because he wears them every day, even though there are so many holes in them you can see what color socks he's wearing (usually black). I watch them go flas.h.i.+ng by as he books it down toward the main building.

Seeing all these things makes me feel a thousand times better, and I start thinking maybe all of yesterday-everything that happened-was just some kind of long, strange dream.

Lindsay cruises down to the Senior Alley, even though there's zero chance of finding a spot. It's a religion for her. My stomach dips when we pa.s.s the third spot from the tennis courts, and there's Sarah Grundel's brown Chevrolet with its Thomas Jefferson Swim Team sticker-and another one, smaller, that reads GET WET GET WET-staring at me from the b.u.mper. I think: she got the last spot because we're so late she got the last spot because we're so late, and I have to squeeze my nails into my palms and repeat to myself that I've only been dreaming-that none of this has happened before.

"I can't believe we have to walk .22 miles," Elody says, pouting. "I don't even have a jacket."

"You're the one who left the house half naked," Lindsay says. "It is is February." February."

"I didn't know I'd be outside outside."

We pa.s.s the soccer fields on our right as we loop back toward Upper Lot. At this time of year the fields are all churned up, just mud and a few patches of brown gra.s.s.

"I feel like I'm having deja vu," Elody says. "Flashback to freshman year, you know?"

"I've been having deja vu all morning," I blurt out before I can stop myself. Instantly I feel better, sure that that's what this is.

"Let me guess." Lindsay brings one hand to her temples and frowns, pretending to concentrate. "You're having flashbacks to the last time Elody was this annoying before nine A.M. A.M."

"Shut up!" Elody leans forward and smacks Lindsay's arm and they start laughing. I smile too, relieved to have spoken the words out loud. It makes sense: one time on a trip to Colorado, my parents and I hiked up three miles to this little waterfall smack in the middle of the woods. The trees were big and old, all of them pine. The clouds were streaked across the sky like spun sugar. Izzy was too young to walk or talk. She was riding in my dad's baby backpack, and she kept punching her tiny fat fists at the sky like she wanted to grab it.

Anyway, as we were standing there watching the spray of water on the rocks, I had the craziest feeling that it had all happened before, down to the smell of the orange my mom was peeling and the exact reflections of the trees in the surface of the water. I was positive positive. It became the big joke that day, because I'd complained about having to hike three miles, and when I told my parents I was having deja vu, they kept laughing and saying it really would be a miracle if I'd ever agreed to walk that far in a past life.

I guess my point is only that I was sure sure then, just like I'm feeling then, just like I'm feeling sure sure now. It happens. now. It happens.

"Oooh!" Elody squeals, and starts digging through her purse. She knocks out a pack of cigarettes and two empty tubes of lip gloss, plus a misshapen eyelash curler. "I almost forgot your present."

She sends the condom sailing over the front seat, and Lindsay claps her hands and bounces in her seat when I hold it up.

"No glove, no love?" I say, managing a smile.

Elody leans forward and kisses my cheek, leaving a ring of pink gloss. "You're going to be great, kid."

"Don't call me that," I say, and drop the condom in my bag. We step out of the car and the air is so cold my eyes sting and start to water. I ignore the bad feeling buzzing through me, and I think, This is my day, this is my day, this is my day This is my day, this is my day, this is my day, so I can't think of anything else.

A SHADOW WORLD.

I read once that you get deja vu when the two halves of your brain process things at different speeds: the right half a few seconds before the left, or vice versa. Science is probably my worst subject, so I didn't understand the whole article, but that would explain the weird double feeling that it leaves you with, like the world is splitting in half-or you you are. are.

That's the way I feel, at least: like there's a real me and a reflection of me, and I have no way of telling which is which.