“What?”

“She…she didn’t care about fitting in. She just did what she wanted. That’s what all her friends are like.” Logan added, “You don’t care about fitting in. You do what you want and that’s what she did. She was nice, but…she did her own tune. She didn’t…conform like so many others do.”

“Like you,” I noted.

“Sheldon,” Corrigan reprimanded.

“No,” Logan said quickly. “It’s true. I conformed. I still am conforming. I get it, that’s why…that’s why you didn’t like me for so long, right?”

I smiled tightly.

“That’s why you still don’t like me,” Logan commented, wryly. “I think…at first I thought that I needed to be a bitch for you to like me, but that’s not true…is it? I just…I have to be me, don’t I? That’s what all three of you guys do. You guys are just…you blow off anyone who stands in your way of that.”

Katrice frowned.

I spoke up, “I wasn’t trying to be mean just now.”

“I know,” Logan nodded. “It hurt because it was true, but…not many can get through high school without conforming. You’re either…I’m not popular enough and I don’t have the words or the snappy comeback and…I don’t have…I care what people think of me.”

“So did Leisha,” I said. “She cared, but…I think she was just starting to not care.

She was a ‘good girl.’”

“She wouldn’t have been for long if she’d been our friend,” Corrigan laughed.

“No,” Bryce spoke up. “I think she would’ve. I think she would’ve done what she wanted and liked who she wanted and blushed about lying to teachers.”

Katrice frowned a bit more.

“She never apologized for it,” I murmured as I looked at no one. “She skipped, but she was thrilled by it. I don’t remember the last time that I skipped and I was excited by it. She was just refreshing because she was…”

“Not us,” Bryce followed my train of thought.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know her, but I wish that I would’ve.” Logan raised her toast and I saw a tear had fallen down her cheek. Another followed and she said gravely, “I wish that I would’ve known what you knew and that I could’ve looked at her through your eyes.”

Corrigan smiled softly and chinked his glass against hers. They shared another smile and took a drink.

Katrice sniffled. We looked over and she reared back to try to hide her face with a hand. “Oh, don’t look at me.”

Corrigan laughed and stood next to his mother. He wrapped an embracing arm around her shoulders and lifted his glass, “To Leisha, who wasn’t anything like us, but, hell, we got two people to cry because of her.”

It was an awful toast, but I couldn’t help chuckling anyways.

“A toast,” Corrigan said further and all of us lifted our glasses. We toasted my friend and the different memory she’d leave us with.

After a second and third glass, Katrice was beet red and she was giggling nonstop.

She excused herself after many reassurances to drive safe when we left for the vigil.

Bryce only had one glass of wine so he promised to drive safe and sober.

It brought a blush to Mrs. Raimler and she held a hand to his cheek. She gushed about how adorable he was until Mr. Raimler walked through the door. With a quick gasp and a quick squeeze to her son’s hand, Mrs. Raimler was off and embracing her husband after a long hard day at work. Mr. Raimler was silent until he expelled a resigned mutter about wine and all of us broke into a grin below.

Corrigan rolled his eyes and shot a glare towards Bryce, “If you ever say a word about what just happened—you and I are not going to wake up in the hospital at the same time.”

Bryce grinned and stood up. He dangled his keys and remarked, “Let’s go. The thing is going to start soon.”

Bryce drove. I rode shotgun and the two lovebirds sat in the back.

Corrigan mused, “What is a vigil? Technically?”

“It’s a state of observance and prayer,” Logan answered him softly.

“So why can’t they just say that we’re going to get together and pray for her?”

Corrigan asked. “That’s stupid. It’s like making up a name for another name of what we’re actually doing.”

Bryce and I were quiet, but Logan had the answer. She said calmly, quietly, “There’s a lot of opinions about what we’re supposed to specifically believe in. I think it’s just a way to make everyone happy by stamping a vague description on it.”

“But that’s…,” Corrigan started. “That’s stupid. If people are praying then that means they’re all praying to their god, right? And yet, it’s called a candlelight vigil?”

“There’s a lot of specifics about a general concept,” Bryce noted. “People want to have a say about those specifics because—”

I finished for him, “Because in the end, we have no say whatsoever.”

“We die, we die,” Corrigan put it simply. “We go where we’re supposed to go.”

Bryce tipped the rearview mirror so he could meet Corrigan’s eyes. He murmured, “You want to think of Stephen going somewhere that you’re not? What about your mom?”

Corrigan shrugged again. “I won’t care. I’ll be dead or they’ll be dead. They’ll be happier than me because I guarantee, if anyone’s going to heaven, it’ll be them before me.”

Immorality and immortality. I wondered about the relationship between the two or if there was one.

“She’s happy,” I murmured, to myself, but the car heard. “That’s all I care about right now. If there’s a heaven or whatever—I’m sure she’s there and I’m sure that she’s happy.”

“Yeah.”

Corrigan had heard too. He added, “She’s dead. She might’ve died an awful—”

He choked off abruptly.

Logan frowned and glanced over.

“She died because of me.” I said softly.

“No,” Corrigan said first.

Logan frowned.

Bryce shook his head and said roughly, “Shut up, Sheldon.”