Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

I don’t report back to your parents unless you give me permission, so they wouldn’t know it if you didn’t show up.”
    “What’s your point?” I ask.
    “You chose to come.” She cracks the knuckles on her right hand and wiggles her fingers. “I think you want to talk about some of this.”
    Yes, I’d love to tell you that Cassie’s voice is on the phone in my purse and she is haunting me because I let her die. If I do, you’ll give me even more drugs. If I tell you what I ate today, you’ll pull the alarm and send me back to jail. I lay all the hairs on the arm of the chair. “I keep thinking that if I could just unzip my skin, step out of this body, then I would see who I really am.”
    She nods her head slowly. “What do you think you’d look like?”
    “Smaller, for a start.”
    The final eight minutes march past in silent formation until the timer on her desk dings.
    “So, can I go to the funeral?” I ask.
    She reaches for her shoes. “Do you understand why you want to go to the funeral?”
    To make sure they bury her in concrete so she’ll leave me alone. “I feel that I need some closure about this.”
    “And the funeral will provide that?”
    Yes, that’s what I just said. “I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

    The clock ticks by two bonus minutes. I roll the hair of the strangers into a ball.
    “It’s a good idea.” She slips her shoes on and stands up. “But have one of your parents go with you. Nobody should ever go to a funeral alone.”
    On the way home, I take the phone out of my purse and the memory out of my phone and lay it on the iron rail just beyond the railroad crossing near the mall. I place the phone itself under the left rear tire and drive back and forth over it thirty-three times. I pitch the remains in a construction site Dumpster.
    Elijah opens the door to room 115 with the security chain still latched and presses his face into the small space. His eyes are sleep-swollen and confused.
    “Emma?” he asks. “What’s up?”
    I don’t know how to explain the name thing yet. “I brought you pizza. Free food.”
    The chain rattles and the door opens all the way.
    “What’s the catch?”
    The warm mozzarella grease has soaked through the bottom of the box and is leaking into my fingers. I want to lick I want to throw the box away before it infects me.
    “No catch.”

    He leans against the door frame. “There’s always a catch.”
    “It’s for helping me out the other night.”
    “What kind of pizza is it?”
    “Extra cheese and sausage.”
    He smiles. “I can’t eat it. I’m a vegetarian.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    A door opens at the far end of the motel and a man shouts in a language I can’t understand. The woman he’s yelling at laughs like a cartoon jackal. Tires screech on River Road and an engine races.
    He rubs his face once and steps back. “Okay, I’m mostly a vegetarian. I’m a pizzatarian. Come on in.”
    The room smells like cigarettes and clothes left in the washing machine too long. The only light comes from a small lamp on the table, squeezed between a stack of spiral notebooks topped with a dirty ashtray and a six-pack of beer.
    He takes the pizza box from me and puts it on the bed.
    Playing cards are scattered over the tangled blankets and thin pillows are piled against the headboard. “What time is it?” he asks.
    “Almost five.”
    “Damn. I must have fallen asleep. Charlie wanted me to fix the shelves in 204. Oh, well. He needs to accept what the universe gives him.”
    “That’s a lame excuse for ditching work.”
    “No, it’s not. Things happen for a reason.” He yawns and stretches. “You gotta accept that and let the flow carry you, stop resisting.”
    “That’s crap.”
    His eyes are brighter now, mischievous. “One guy’s crap is another guy’s fertilizer.” He waves at the walls.
    “Ask them.”
    The walls are covered floor to ceiling with pages torn from books, some highlighted with red or yellow