She set aside the Styrofoam container and the pie tin and the can of whipped cream and the empty ice cream carton and the soda bottle and the bag of chips, and she got to her feet. The floor creaked as it bore her weight.
Ten minutes later, she sat on the cold tiles, her head against the bathtub, too tired to move, too tired to ever move again. She thought of that day—it seemed like so long ago, seventh grade—when she had stared at herself in the mirror and made a promise she thought she would keep.
But that was the thing. It was a different time, when she kept promises. When she thought they were meant to be kept.
She knew better now.
She dragged herself upright and walked to the mirror. She stood, she stared at the girl in the mirror with eyes that held nothing at all, and she asked, “Am I beautiful yet?”
Beautiful like Julia, who was brave enough to be different—or used to be. Beautiful like Kennie, who saw how ugly the world could be but loved it anyway. Beautiful like anyone else, beautiful like everyone else. But she wasn’t, so she wanted to be so thin that everyone could see what she was like on the inside, all failing heart and shattering pieces.
No, Liz Emerson wasn’t beautiful, but soon she would be dead, and it wouldn’t matter anymore.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Meridian Teen Injured in Car Crash”
Liam scrolls down his phone, opened to the Meridian Daily’s website. He scans the new article about Liz and the crash, and notices that he is mentioned in passing. “A classmate of the victim saw the crash and called the police.” The article blames the crash on icy road conditions. It states that Liz was—was—the soccer team’s captain and mentions that she scored the winning goal in the state championship last year. There are quotes about how Liz is a wonderful person, beautiful and always smiling.
Liam laughs under his breath and closes the tab. Superficial article for a superficial girl, but he doesn’t really believe it. It irritates him that they whitewashed the truth and called Liz Emerson wonderful because she was beautiful. She would have hated it too.
Unfortunately, everyone else in the waiting room also seems to be reading that article, and after a few minutes, Liam begins to catch pieces of conversation.
“A classmate? Who was it?”
“Kennie or Julia, obviously.”
“No, they didn’t know until after.”
“Maybe it was . . .”
“. . . or . . .”
Liam pulls his hood over his head and turns his face away, and prays that the average intelligence of his classmates will not increase within the next few minutes.
“Hey, weren’t the police questioning Liam yesterday?”
Damn.
“Liam? You mean the guy who plays flu—oh, hey! Liam. Liam!”
They swarm around him, and Liam has to remind himself to keep his misanthropy in check before he pushes back his hood and turns around.
“Yeah?”
“You were the one who found Liz, right? What was it like?”
It’s Marcus Hills who asks. In the article, Marcus called Liz beautiful. In real life, he usually remarked upon her boobs.
I don’t need to keep my misanthropy in check. It runs wild.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Four Days Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car
She woke up and decided to take a drive. She grabbed her keys and headed for the interstate, and she drove along her crash route to test the road conditions.
Dry with salt, but still icy at the edges. And it would snow between now and then, anyway, and the turn, her turn, was a tricky one even in good weather. Her accident might actually end up being an accident, and she wasn’t certain if she liked the idea.
Doesn’t matter, she decided. Same result.
The interstate rose over a half bridge, and Liz pushed down on the gas. The land sloped away, down and down and down until it melted to grass and trees.
There.
She pictured it as she drove. Onto the bridge. Tighten grip on the wheel. Accelerate. Brake. Skid. Jerk the wheel to the right. Break through the railing. Close eyes. Fall—
Liz grappled with the wheel as the car swerved, catching the interstate railing and leaving a streak of blue paint behind. She swallowed hard and took a breath. She had started following her own instructions.
Four more days.
She kept going, all the way to Cardinal Bay—still an unimpressive city, but it had a mall. Liz took the exit and parked. She headed for the closest store, even though the outside was too pink and expensive looking. Why not? What else did she have to do, four days before she died?
It sounded like a truth or dare question, the big cliché, the one that came late at night when everyone was tired and drunk and out of interesting questions. What would you do with the last week of your life?
Surely she had answered it before, or some variation. She wondered what she’d said. Travel, maybe, or skydive, or say good-bye.