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Then, he stopped coming back. And now, I can’t convince myself to get rid of them.
I stare at a framed picture of Ty and myself at prom after we were named King and Queen; the girl in the bubblegum-colored gown with her long blonde hair curled stares back at me, smiling wide. It’s hard to believe she was me just a few months ago and that, in that moment, I thought I had it all. And that moment won’t ever matter to anyone ever again.
That girl in the picture derived so much of her self-worth and purpose from the things lining those shelves—from popularity, from winning—when none of it ever mattered. And I am aware of it. I’m aware that it’s a problem, and I need to adjust my perspective.
It’s not that I’m unhappy or that I don’t like myself, it’s more that I’m afraid. I don’t know what my next move is going to be, and I’m suddenly terrified that what the things lining those shelves will be saying ten years from now is peaked in high school.
I don’t want to be that girl.
I sigh and shake my head, then turn over and scream into my pillow, Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy” playing on the radio drowns out whatever sound waves the pillow doesn’t.
How fitting.
This is what Ty was talking about. This is exactly what I need to stop doing.
An hour goes by like this; I let the lyrics from my radio wash over me, reaching for the ones that make me feel something and using them as an outlet, letting myself cry the way I did into Ty’s shoulder in the car until I decide to be done.
And I do decide to be done. I decide to let it die right here, and not to spend a minute more mourning some imaginary future where college solves all my problems.
I dry my eyes, wipe the mascara from my full cheeks, and head downstairs to make dinner.
The second I step out into the hallway, I hear the TV click off down below.
“I don’t care what you’re watching, Emma,” I say as I descend the stairs. “Whatever it is, I’ll watch it with you.”
“Um...it’s…I Know What You Did Last Summer.”
“Really? Where’d you get that?”
“I took the tape from Ty’s house.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“I was going to put it back!” she says. “Are you going to tell Stella?”
“No,” I tell her.
She stares back at me, waiting for something else.
“Well…push play, Emma.”
She smiles and turns the TV back on, and I head into the kitchen. “I hope grilled cheese is okay for dinner,” I say. “I’m exhausted. I’ll make popcorn, too, okay?”
“That’s fine,” she says.
We eat on the couch and watch the movie in the dark. Having seen it before, I spend a lot of the time watching Emma, who’s scared shitless. I shake my head. I foresee nightmares in her near future.
Shortly after we go to bed, there’s a knock on my door. As anticipated, Emma is too afraid to sleep alone. I lock the door behind her and she crawls into bed next to me, tossing and turning for who knows how long before she finally falls asleep.
two
Summer 1999
Iwake to the sound of the phone ringing the next morning.
I drag myself out of bed, lift it from its cradle, and bring it to my ear.
“Hello?”
