Pushing Send (10 page)

I immediately notice how they all look at me: the students, the teachers, all the staff, even my friends. Noticing Lana isn’t here in first period, I allow myself to think of how she must feel, and immediately, I send her a text.

I’m at school today, but you’re not. Even though things are crazy, I hope you know I am truly sorry. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you I have no idea how that posted. I want to tell you, and I want you to believe me.

She doesn’t respond.

When I am on my way to the library for lunch, Bee and Skylar look at me as I walk by. Skylar gives me a sad smile, one that says she pities me or feels bad, something I won’t know because they don’t even give a second glance.

I sit in the library, where no one approaches me. I hear whispers, but I don’t allow myself to eavesdrop. I don’t want to know what they are saying. I won’t allow myself to care.

Back in Buffalo, it was a big school, but when Dad was arrested for DUI, everyone knew about it. I have no idea why I attract so much unwanted attention. I sure as hell don’t try. I thought it would be different here. Apparently not.

When school is over, I walk outside to see my father pull up just down the block. I see Pax drive by me slowly, looking at me as he continues on. There is no expression on his face, and I can’t see his eyes, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I know he has to believe me, though. If he doesn’t, well, to hell with him. He was never a true friend.

I open the door to Dad’s old truck and climb in.

“Got the wood for the slats. You wanna help your old man get that bed inside before your mom gets home?”

“Her birthday is Monday.”

“Got done early. She may as well enjoy it over the weekend. She’s off.”

“Is the poly dry?”

“Sure is,” he says as he pulls away from the curb. “How bad was school?”

I don’t want to tell him it was as bad if not worse than it was when he got messed up, drove over the curb, and onto the front yard of one of my classmate’s houses. He was trying; he really was. I could tell.

“No big deal. Mom was kind of bad-ass today.”

He smirks. “Bad-ass?”

“Yep,” I say as I roll down the window manually and put my feet on the dash.

Dad chuckles and shakes his head. “So my Pammy was bad-ass?”

“I know, right?” I laugh and it feels good. It feels so good I laugh again and so does he.

~*~

We are carrying the bed in the front door when Pax pulls in his driveway.

“Straight up those stairs,” Dad directs from the back.

I look behind me before taking the next step, finding Yolo is lying there, his ears back and not moving. Dad looks up and shakes his head.

“Move it, cat,” he snaps at him.

He doesn’t move, so I push him away with my very tender foot. He hisses, jumps up, and bats at me.

“Stupid cat,” I say and hiss at him.

We get to their room, and I notice Dad has already taken down the old bed. “Busy day, huh?”

“Sure was. Felt good, too.”

Once we get the bed in place and throw the box spring and mattress on top of it, we stand back and look at it.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” I tell him, smiling. “Now you have to make matching nightstands and dressers.”

“Easy, Hads. Yours first. Don’t overwhelm—”

He stops talking when we hear yelling—screaming, actually. He looks out the window and so do I.

I see Pax in Lana’s window, screaming, “No, no, no, no. Oh, God, Lana, no!”

Dad runs down the stairs, and I follow him.

Once in the driveway, Dad yells up to Pax through the open window. “You okay up there?”

“Help! Oh, God, help her. Please!”

We both run to the front door to find it’s locked, so I push the potted plant to the side, grab the hidden key Lana has grabbed so many times, and then open the door. Then Dad takes the stairs two by two.

He stops at the door to Lana’s bedroom, and I run into the back of him.

“She’s gone. Why? Why would you do this?! Why! Breathe, Lana. Come on, breathe, dammit!”

Dad runs to him, and that’s when I see Pax holding Lana’s limp body, rocking her as he cries, “Why, Lana, why! Breathe!”

My Dad takes her pulse and shakes his head.

“No! No, fix her! Fix her now! Lana, please breathe. Please, God, make her breathe!”

He looks up, past my dad and sees me, and then he buries his face against Lana’s blue one.

My whole body shakes, my stomach turns, and I sprint to the bathroom, throwing up over and over again. When I am able to stop, I wipe my face as the tears fall.

As I run out, my dad is giving directions to the 911 operator. I fall to my knees beside Pax and Lana, taking her limp hand in mine, holding it against my face as I cry.

“Wake up, Lana. Wake up!”

The ambulance is there in minutes, but it seems like forever before Pax is physically pulled away from her, and they take her pulse, then announce her DOA.

Dr. and Mrs. Jamison run in, and Dr. Jamison holds her while she crumbles.

“No, no, my baby, my baby! Lana, no. How could you do this to me, to us? How?!”

Pax stands shakily as they load her onto a stretcher, and her mother throws herself over Lana’s lifeless body.

“Ma’am—”

She looks up at the paramedic and screams at him, “No, you can’t take her. No!”

Then her eyes flicker up and she sees me. “You! You little bitch, this is your fault! Your fault!” she cries as she grabs Lana and pulls her up and into her arms. “She will pay for this, beautiful, sweet girl, she will.”

When Dad takes my hand and pulls me toward the door, I follow him out, and the police pull in as soon as we are out the door.

I run to the bushes beside our house and throw up again and again. I then run inside and up the stairs to my room, dive on the bed, and cry. I curse God, the universe, and myself, and I cry some more.

“Hads.” My father walks over, and I sit up and grab him. Then he holds me as I cry. When the crying slows down, he pulls back and wipes away the tears with his large, callused thumbs. “I have to go talk to the police. Mom’s on her way. You’ll be okay. Christ, Hads, I am so sorry, but you will be okay.”

“She thinks it’s my fault. Maybe it is my—”

“Shh, it’s not your fault at all. No one even knows what happened yet.”

“She killed herself, Dad!” I cry.

“No one knows that for sure, and even if it’s true, you are not at fault, Hads.”

I lie back down and bury my face in my pillow.

“I’ll be back.”

~*~

I stay in bed all night, all day Saturday, and Sunday. My parents stay with me most of the time and check in on me repeatedly the rest of the time. Whenever they’re out of the room, I hear their whispers. I’m not sure what it is they are talking about, but I hear mention of a lawyer.

I’m scared. I’m nervous. I’m exhausted, and I am unsure what all of this means, but my gut tells me it’s bad. Really, really bad.

Lana’s dead. Why? Why would she do that to herself? I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.

On Sunday night, I decide to shower. When I come downstairs, they are at the table, and Mom has obviously been crying. She looks up and wipes away her tears.

“You need something, sweetheart?”

I walk over and look out the window that’s over the sink at Lana’s house.

“Did they bury her yet?” I ask as I feel goose bumps covering my skin.

“Tomorrow,” Mom answers in a whisper.

“Did she do it? Did she kill herself?”

“Yes, overdosed.”

“Why?”

“I assume she was sick, Hadley.”

I turn around and look at her, shaking my head. “She wasn’t sick, Mom. She was angry. She was angry at me. Mrs. Jamison is right; it is my fault.”

“No, Hadley. No, it was not. You did not kill her. She did that all by herself. She—”

“Because of me.”

“No more talk like that, Hadley,” Mom yells at me as she storms toward me and hugs me tightly. “Never again!”

Her losing it makes me nervous. I am so afraid she will have a breakdown like Dad. Right now, I am afraid, scared they aren’t telling me something, scared this will break them both. I may not have the strongest or most perfect family, but I have them, and as fear courses through me, I hold her just as tightly.

“Pammy, we need to talk to Hadley.”

“No, not now. Not—”

I pull away from my mom. “I need to know what you two have been whispering about. I need to know what has you so afraid.”

“Have a seat.”

I sit and watch my parents exchange glances, seeing fear in both of their faces.

“There is no easy way to tell you this, Hads, so I am gonna start by telling you we are going to fight with everything we have and everything we are.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

“The Jamisons’ are trying to press charges against you. They are saying that video caused Lana’s death.”

“They’re right, aren’t they?” I ask, pulling my feet up on the edge of the chair and hugging my knees, as if that simple movement is the only thing that can keep me together.

“There are no laws right now that say either way.”

“You said ‘right now.’ ”

“Your mother talked to a lawyer today, and he said it concerns him. He thinks it could be precedent setting, but that doesn’t mean anything. Right now, they are grieving. When they have had time to adjust and think things through—”

“How much time does it take to adjust, Dad? Huh? How much time? Because every time I close my eyes, I see her. I see her, and it won’t go away. So tell me how much time—”

“I have no idea, Hads. I am so sorry you are going through this. All I can say for sure is that we are here, and we are strong. We will fight against anything they throw at us.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hadley. You are fifteen years old, and kids make mistakes.”

“I didn’t post it, Mom. I swear I never pushed send. Never.”

“And I believe you. I do. I promise, Hadley.”

“Hads, you have to be strong, too. No more talk of this being your fault. You need to hold your head high and—”

“How? I want to hide. I want to bring her back. I want to go back in time. I—”

“Hads, you can’t. You just can’t.” My dad grabs my hand. “What’s tails, kiddo?” I shrug. “Tails, you be you and don’t let it bother you.”

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”

“You need to listen to me. You
did not
do anything wrong.” He takes both my hands. “You didn’t push send, Hads. You never would have.”

I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t, but they don’t care. The kids at school—”

“Mean nothing, Hads. In four years, they’re only a memory.”

I look up, wanting to argue because, in fact, yes, they do. The taunting, the whispers, the judgmental looks, the constant scrutiny—they all matter. The judgment, the constant fight to fit in, or at the very least blend into the background—all of that means something.

“I’m going to my room.”

I lie on my bed for hours, trying to fall asleep. My parents are both in and out every half hour or so. Sometimes, they lie with me and hold me while I cry, and sometimes, they cry with me. I don’t sleep. I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see her.

Monday morning, I come down from my room. Mom is at work, and I’m grateful they allow me to stay home.

I zone out on the couch and think I fall asleep because, when I wake, it’s five o’clock at night. Mom is still at work.

I find a couple of letters with my name on them, pick them up, and go back to my room. There’s one from Bee, one from Sky, and none from Pax.

Hadley,

I’m so sorry. I wish things were different. I still can’t believe she killed herself. She never even gave any signs! She was so nice and gentle! Sometimes she snapped, but it got so much better when you moved here! I remember two years ago when she used to play house with us (obviously before we had phones and role-playing), she used to always be the mom. She was always the perfect mom. She was the perfect person, and I never thought this would happen. I wish things were still like that.

Bee

Dear Hadley.

We all miss you. Claire is trying to clear your name and so are we. We don’t believe you made her kill herself. I’ve spent long nights thinking about this and realized she could’ve just killed herself. No motive. No mystery. Sometimes people do that. I wish you would talk. This isn’t your fault, no matter what people say. You didn’t make her do it.