Amid the noise, Principal Yates walked onto the stage and stood at the podium. He spoke eloquently about Pine Island and what it was like to grow up on land that was surrounded by water, how it strengthened the sense of community. At the end of his speech, he said, “This is a class that has been touched by a sudden, terrible tragedy, and these students who were on their way to adulthood have grown up in the past week. We hope as they move forward and are faced with choices in their lives, both big and small, they will remember what they learned about consequences in the year 2004.” He gave the class a sad, knowing smile. “And now, Amanda Martin is going to sing a song in memory of a very special girl, who should have been with us today.”
Lexi tried to steel herself, but when the music began, she felt a terrible ache in her chest. And then Amanda’s voice, pure and sweet, rang out: “I can show you the world … shining, shimmering, splendid…”
The song brought Mia bursting back to life, twirling on the dance floor, singing off-key. She’d loved the Disney movies so much. I’m Ariel, she used to say all the time. You’re Belle. No Snow White or Cinderella, not for us; we’re the new-school Disney girls … we go for what we want …
Lexi wasn’t the only one sobbing when Amanda finished her song. At least half of the senior class was crying.
The applause was thunderous, and when it faded once again, the commencement began. One by one, her friends’ names were called, and blue-robed girls and boys bounded onto the stage to take their diplomas and wave to the crowd.
“Alexa Baill.”
The audience stilled. People looked around.
Onstage, the principal cleared his throat and went on. “Andrew Clark…”
Lexi’s heart pounded. She was sure someone would point to her, yell, “There she is; there’s the girl who killed Mia.”
“Zachary Farraday.”
Zach walked woodenly up the aisle and onto the stage. He took his diploma from the principal and faced the bleachers. Slowly, he upheld a framed photograph of Mia and then leaned closer to the microphone. “She wanted to do a cartwheel today…”
A cartwheel, Lexster … that would get their attention.
Lexi sagged back against the sun-warmed concrete wall, closing her eyes. The ceremony went on, calling names and handing out diplomas, but she hardly noticed. All she could hear were memories, things Mia had said to her over the years …
“Lex?”
She drew in a sharp breath and opened her eyes to see Zach standing in front of her. Behind them, down on the field, there was sound and color and movement, but here it was quiet and still. They were alone in an alcove beneath the bleachers. “H-how did you find me?”
“I knew you’d be here.”
She’d hoped for this moment, dreamed of it, thought of ways to make him understand how sorry she was, but she could see that he knew, that he understood. “I love you,” she said softly. It was the only thing that hadn’t changed.
“I love you, too, but…”
“But what?”
He shook his head, shrugged. She understood the gesture perfectly: it meant that nothing mattered anymore, their love least of all. His look was the saddest thing she’d ever seen.
“You’ll never forgive me, will you?” she said.
“It’s me I can’t forgive,” he said, and on that, his voice broke and he turned away from her. “I gotta go.”
“Wait.” She reached into her purse, burrowed past the polyester of her gown, and pulled out her worn, dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. It was a stupid gift for a girl to give a boy, but it was all she had that mattered to her. “I want you to have this,” she said.
“It’s your favorite book. I can’t take—”
“Please. It has a happy ending.”
He reached out; for a second, they were both touching the book. “I gotta go.”
“I know. Good-bye, Zach,” she whispered, watching him walk away from her.
She pulled away from the wall and walked out beneath the bleachers. She didn’t bother to hunch her shoulders or avert her eyes. She didn’t care if people stared at her.
In the parking lot, she climbed into Eva’s old car and waited.
“Couldn’t do it, huh?” Eva said later, when she got behind the wheel.
Lexi shrugged. “Who cares? It’s just a dumb ceremony.”
“You cared.”
“Before,” Lexi said, realizing as she said it that her whole life would now be divided into two parts: before she’d killed her best friend, and after.
*