Bad news: I have to get rid of Kamala.
Because she is out to get me. I know I sound paranoid. That is not one of the mental conditions I presently have. Although I feel like the world is sometimes keeping a huge secret from me.
“I heard you remembered stuff,” she said to me as we walked to class.
“Who said and what stuff?” I had learned I was often discussed in group texts, studied for any suicidal tendencies or hint that my memories had returned. I guess everyone’s college applications were nearly done and the seniors had time to burn.
“I don’t—” Kamala stopped herself, as if the third word was the magical remember. “Is it true?”
“If it was true, I would say so. I would dance down the hallway.”
This was the wrong thing to say, because of David. I knew it as soon as I said it. It’s like I’ve forgotten common sense.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s OK,” she said. “I know you’re not yourself.” Every time she was nice, it felt like a small, mean shove. No one but me seemed to notice.
So good of you, I saw a passing girl mouth to Kamala. She patted Kamala on the shoulder as if giving her strength. She didn’t even look at me.
“Why are you being my peer helper?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I was going to help you. We’ve been friends forever, Jane.”
“Have we?”
“Yes.”
“Were we still friends the night of the accident?”
“Why? Are you remembering something?” She stopped, stared at me.
I stopped. “I heard maybe we weren’t as close as we once were.”
Kamala put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We did have a disagreement when David and I broke up.”
“When…when did you break up?” This was news to me.
“A week before the crash.” With a gentle, understanding smile. It was like seeing a snake on the floor moments before the lights in the room went out.
And then I wondered if that was true. If she said they broke up and then she still acted like my friend, it made her look good. There were no e-mails or texts to me saying, “David and I broke up, Jane, I need ice cream and movie night with you.” I had not seen a single one of those. Weren’t we best friends?
“What did you and I fight about?” David? But we weren’t dating. I didn’t have a boyfriend, Mom and Adam had told me that.
Kamala hugged me, patted my back. “Does any of this matter? I just want you to get better.”
You were his girlfriend. Anyone else could have volunteered, maybe they did.
Here’s the later scene at the counselor’s office:
“Mrs. Coulter, did anyone else volunteer to be my peer helper?”
“Why do you ask? Is there a problem?” I made her nervous. I made everyone nervous. They didn’t know how to act. I was their first amnesiac. It was exhausting for them. I must have kept them searching through reference books and websites, trying to counsel me.
“Kamala is not really trying to help me.”
“But she’s so patient and understanding with you.”
“I think it might be an act.”
It was almost as if I had suggested Kamala was from Mars, or that she had privately shown me superpowers. Mrs. Coulter didn’t believe me but she said, “I’ll talk to her.”
“No. I will. I just wanted you to know my feelings about her. Did anyone else volunteer to help me other than Kamala?”
“Yes. Adam Kessler and Trevor Blinn. Would you like one of them to be your peer?”
I bit my lip. Trevor had stood up for me in a way no one else had. But Adam was a friend who wasn’t particularly close with Kamala and her crowd. She couldn’t exert any influence over him. The drawback was that I didn’t remember Adam before the accident. I had childhood memories of Trevor and Kamala. I knew I had been close to them once. Adam was a blank space. Maybe I needed that; someone who didn’t have years of expectations and history with me. And I could trust him. “Adam, please.”
“All right. I’ll speak to Kamala.”
“No. I will. I’ll tell her.”
Mrs. Coulter bit at her lip and I thought, Are you afraid of her? “It would be better if I could,” Mrs. Coulter said.
“Let me fire her,” I said. There is some social awkwardness tied to amnesia.
“Jane, ‘firing’ isn’t really the word I’d use…”
“I can talk to her. Please let me stand on my own feet.” (Counselors love that phrase.)
And she nodded. I didn’t wait. Everything was being done for me. I’d been led along, docile, trusting. So. Kamala was waiting for me at our first-period class, like I didn’t know how to find my way from the hallway into the room.
“I was worried about you,” she said. “You weren’t waiting for me at the entrance. You know I don’t like to be late.” And she gave me an admonishing kind of smile, the indulgent, patronizing smile that you give a wayward child.
“I no longer need your help,” I said by way of greeting. Her smile stilled and then, for just a moment, hardened into a cruel slash. Like a mask had fallen away for a second.
Then it returned with new energy, a recharged star.
“I’m assigned to be your peer helper,” she said, prim as a grandmother. Now the smile was gentle, and then the bitch dusted my shoulder, like I was a disheveled toddler on the playground. “And that’s what I’m going to be. I’m here for you, every moment, until we get your memory back.” And then she tapped my forehead, still smiling.
I felt my skin blush terribly. I was still recovering. Physically and mentally. I was emotionally arrested—whatever leaps in maturity I’d made in high school were wiped free. Then I was mad at myself for telling her this at the start of the day rather than the end—it was Friday, the weekend could have been a needed break—and also for then not just saying that Adam would kindly take over, Kamala had already done so much, thank you, and been all diplomatic about it. I didn’t know how to do that. “Not anymore. I don’t need one.”
“I don’t think you’re quite yourself, Jane. I don’t think you realize what good friends we’ve been. You need your friends right now.” Her voice lowered. More serious. As if we were still negotiating. If David had broken up with her, had he faced this saccharine resistance? That mask that slipped and showed the snarl? “I’m all that’s keeping the wolves at bay.” She gestured, furtively, at the classrooms behind her. “Without me, they’ll turn on you. It won’t be just snide looks in the hall or people not speaking to you.” The half smile returned. “It will get ugly.”
“Are you threatening me?” And here’s the weird thing: I could hear a little hope in my voice. I wanted her to threaten me. I wanted all the innuendo that lay behind those sugared words and indulgent smiles to break free, like light through a long-shuttered window.
The bell rang. The hallway emptied. Neither of us moved.
She tilted her head slightly, watching me, the smile going into a tremble. “No, I’m not threatening you. Threats are for children.”