Page 111 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

OCTOBER 21, 1981

Emily trekked toward home. She felt hot and sticky. Her bladder was going to pop. Today had been the longest day she had ever experienced. From the moment she’d left her hiding place in the back of the library, every minute had felt like an hour. Every hour had felt like a day. At lunch, she had tried to eat, but the food had taken on a metallic taste. By fourth period, she was so exhausted that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Then fifth period rolled around and Emily had found herself startled awake by the teacher clapping together his hands for her attention.

Emily had said that she wasn’t feeling well. There was no argument from the teacher. He’d let her leave twenty minutes before the final bell. In retrospect, slipping out into an empty hallway was the best thing for all concerned. As the day had dragged on, the giggles and stares had ebbed away and an open hostility had washed over the school. Even her math teacher had looked down his nose at her.

Why?

Until a few days ago, Emily had spent her entire nearly eighteen years of existence being the good girl, the teacher’s pet, the great student, the friendly girl-next-door type who would always lend you her class notes or gladly offer to sit with you in the parking lot while you cried over a boy.

Now, she was a pariah.

Except for Melody Brickel, but Emily wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The two of them had been periphery friends for years, always smiling to each other in the halls, talking about music and laughing along to silly jokes in band practice. They’d even bunked together a few times at band camp, though Emily had felt the pull back to the clique the second the bus had dropped them off back home.

And now, Melody had written her a letter. Emily didn’t need to pull it out of her book bag to know what it said. She had read it over and over throughout the day, even hiding in the bathroom stall so she could analyze every word.

Hello!

I am sorry about what is happening to you. It is VERY unfair. You should know that I am STILL your friend even if I can’t talk to you anymore. Or at least for the time being. Everything is so complicated. My mother is worried about me being around you. NOT that she thinks that you did ANYTHING wrong. She wanted me to make it CLEAR to you that what happened is NOT YOUR FAULT. Someone took advantage of you! The thing Mom is worried about is ME being hurt by association. Because people are SO MEAN, and I am already the subject of a lot of abuse because everyone thinks that I am weird. I always thought weirdness was one thing you and I had in common. But YOU are NOT weird because you don’t belong (like ME). Your weirdness comes from your LOVE and ACCEPTANCE of all kinds of people. No one else at school is NICE to everybody no matter who they are or where they live or if they are smart or whatever. You are so genuinely KIND. You DO NOT deserve what people are saying. Maybe when this is over we can be friends again. I am still going to be a world-famous musician one day and you will be a lawyer who helps people and everything will be awesome again. Until that happens I LOVE YOU and I am SO SORRY!!! Keep working it out! YOU WILL FIND THE TRUTH!!!

—Your Friend

PS: Sorry this is messy I was LITERALLY CRYING!!! the whole time I wrote this.

The notebook paper was crinkled where Melody’s tears had dried. She had circled them like crime scene exhibits, as if she needed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that she was heartbroken.

What was Emily supposed to do with the letter? What was she supposed to think? She couldn’t very well go up to Melody and ask her.

… I am STILL your friend even if I can’t talk to you anymore.

The note had been wrapped around a cassette tape, secured by a green rubber band. Melody had made Emily a copy of the Go-Go’s album. She’d done a very good mock-up of the cover art using a fountain pen and magic markers. Her usual block print had been replaced by a cool, funky script.

Keep working it out! YOU WILL FIND THE TRUTH!!!

She meant Emily’s Columbo Investigation. She had seen Emily furiously working the pages as if she could somehow manage to put together the puzzle. In a moment of weakness, Emily had confessed that she was trying to find out who had taken advantage of her at the party. She had even shown Melody some of the passages.

“‘Took advantage of,’” Emily quoted from Melody’s letter. What a phrase. As if Emily had been a two-for-one coupon or a half-priced steak dinner that someone had availed themselves of.

Not someone—

Clay, Nardo, Blake. Maybe Dean. Maybe Jack.

A car drove by at a slow pace.

Emily looked away because she didn’t want to see the faces staring back. Her throat burned as she swallowed back tears. She really was a pariah now. She had lost the clique. She had one friend she could never speak to. The entire school had turned against her. And Cheese—

Jack.

The tears finally broke through. Nardo had said that Jack was at The Party. He’d said that Jack was standing right there when Emily had walked into the house.

Her eyes squeezed shut. She tried to take herself back to that moment. She walked through Nardo’s front door. She stuck out her tongue for Clay to give her the tab of acid. She saw the Fontaines’ sunken living room, the heavy drapes across the large windows, the sectional sofa that curved around a large projection screen.

She could not conjure any memories of Jack being at Nardo’s.

Ever.

Her eyes opened. She stared up at the beautiful, blue sky.