“A hundred percent,” I said. “She would’ve told me when I came out to her.” In seventh grade. She was fine with it. In fact, she said she’d suspected as much.

Swanee held my eyes. Hers were so crystalline clear I felt like I was looking all the way to the bottom of the sea. “But do you like her that way?”

“No.” I hoped the heat in my cheeks didn’t register on the hot tamale scale. I’d wondered myself, and even fantasized about kissing Betheny. But it was only because I wanted so badly to find someone to love.

The bus rumbled off and Swanee sighed. I remember I couldn’t stop peering at her in my peripheral vision. She had this long strawberry-blond hair with a streak of blue down my side. I’d asked Mom if I could highlight my hair, since it’s this unremarkable shade of “dishwater” blond, sort of like splash back on your windshield after a snowmelt, and she said absolutely not, that I already had beautiful auburn highlights. I don’t know where she was looking, but it wasn’t in my mirror.

We weren’t even to I-70 before Swanee sighed again and said, “I really hate skiing alone. Want to—”

“Yes.” I cut her off.

She laughed and I about died of embarrassment.

We fell into an easy conversation, and by the time we were riding home, we were snuggling under a blanket and giggling our heads off.

I have to beg Mom—beg her—to let me stay home from school the rest of the week. Reluctantly, she agrees, but then makes it conditional on me babysitting Ethan if Dad has to go to the office. Dad’s a Web consultant, so he works from home most of the time. I tell Mom, “No way.” We have a stare-down and I win because I break into tears. I know Mom thinks it’s all about Swanee, but it’s more: What if Ethan realizes he’s home alone with me?

“I only have one meeting with a client all week and it’s today,” Dad says, coming out of his office, “so I’ll drop Ethan off at day care.”

I want to hug Dad. We don’t hug in our family. “Thank you,” I tell him.

He adds, “You’ll need to pick him up at five. Can you do that?”

I sniffle and nod. He’ll screech all the way home. I’ll bring my nano.

Dad takes Ethan upstairs to pack diapers and stuff, and then they all leave. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten much since… I can’t keep anything down. I toast a couple of frozen waffles and sit at the kitchen table. I think I’ll call Swanee and—

I press my fingertips against my eyes and choke back a deluge of tears. How could she go and leave me like this? Without warning. No last words. What were the last words we exchanged? Friday night after school she had a track team meeting. She kissed me at my locker and said she’d see me in the morning for snowboarding.

That hardly counts. We talked more on Thursday, when we went to an open mic night. I was at her house, in her room, sitting on her bed cross-legged, watching her put on a shoulder-length, neon-blue wig and an all-black outfit like Joss would wear. Even though the shirt was oversize, I could see Swan’s br**sts and nipples. Sexy as hell. “How do I look?” Swan asked me.

I got off the bed to go to her and kiss her my answer. “Good enough to eat.” I pretended to bite her neck and she went, “Ummm.”

Joss muttered, “I’ll meet you pervs downstairs,” and left.

I said, “You could wear those ebony button earrings I made you.”

Swanee sighed. “I would if I could find them.”

Her room was worse than a hoarder’s nest. Even though I bought her a jewelry box, she could never remember to put my earrings into it. If she could even find the box.

Swan said, “Anyway, I’m saving them for a special occasion.” She ran her hands through my hair and, with that twinkle in her eye, murmured, “We’ll play vamps later.”

It was almost ten. Three bands were left to play, and I had to be home by eleven. Swanee said, “You’re the only person in the world with a curfew that early,” and Joss said, “What is a curfew?” They both howled.

My parents’ rules and regs were so archaic.

Since she was a senior and I was a junior, Swanee and I didn’t have any classes together, but we did eat during the same lunch period. For the life of me, I can’t remember what we talked about on Friday. Trivia. Now I wish I had a recording of every word she ever said every moment of every day.

Saturday, I know, she got up early to run, the same way she does every morning. Did.

The end.

I feel myself losing it, so I slog up to bed, hoping to go to sleep for however long the grieving process takes. Forever?

My bedroom door flies open and Mom says, “Where’s Ethan?”

Oh my God. I sit up and my brain slips a gear. “He’s at day care.”

She checks her watch. “They closed half an hour ago.”

The door opens downstairs and I hear Ethan making his cranky/hungry sound.

“Thank heavens.” Mom presses a hand against her chest. Dad clomps up the stairs and Mom takes Ethan from him.

Dad fills the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I fell asleep.…”

He looks at me just long enough to pierce my heart.

No. He has no right.

Swanee was like a psychic when it came to reading people, and she said she didn’t like coming to my house because my parents always reeked of hater vibes around her.

Chapter 3

Mom says at breakfast, “The service for Swanee is Saturday at ten. There’s no burial, since she’s been cremated, but after the service Jewell and Asher are having an open house.”

Cremated. I can’t get past that word.

If her body was burned to a crisp, how will her heart ever be restarted? Can they even find your heart in soot?

Ethan slaps his high chair with both hands and Mom resumes feeding him baby slop.

I head up to my room.

“Alix?”

I ignore her.

“Alix!”

“What?” I swivel my head.

“I know this is hard for you,” Mom says. “Jewell wanted me to tell you that this will be a celebration of Swanee’s life, for as long as they had her.”

That sounds like she won’t be mourned. Or missed. How can anyone celebrate?

A volcano of hurt erupts in my gut and I sprint up the stairs to hurl.

The service is like no funeral I’ve ever been to, but then I’ve only attended one: my grandfather’s, when I was six. I remember the organ music was sad. People murmured condolences to Dad and said what a pretty girl I was. I wasn’t pretty because I’d been sobbing the whole morning. Grandpa was Dad’s dad and my favorite grandpa. I cried so hard during the service, Mom asked if I needed to leave. I shook my head no; I didn’t want to leave my grandpa. Dad gave the eulogy and not once did his voice even crack. Later, at the burial, he told us he wanted to stay a while, that he’d call Mom when he was ready. I looked over my shoulder on our way to the car and saw Dad with his head bent and his shoulders shaking. I wanted to run to him and squeeze him tight.

Swanee’s service has a carnival atmosphere about it. There are balloon bouquets and teddy bears. A flowered arch. A banner with the words RIP, SWANEE that looks like everyone from school signed it, or attached a card to it.

The Durbins have hired a mariachi band, and they’re playing “Livin’ la Vida Loca,” of all things.

We’re late because Mom worked the night shift in the preemie ward. That, and I kept changing clothes, trying to decide. Or forestall. Not go. Not accept.

Mom finally had to come in and tell me, “We need to leave now, Alix.”

I almost locked myself in the bathroom and told her to go without me. But I knew Swanee would want me there.

On the way to the service, we passed the Safeway, and my vacant stare wandered to our parking spot in back. What the hell…? Swan and I had discovered this gravel driveway that meandered into a copse of trees and then just ended. We’d park there in her little pink Smart car and make out for an hour or so after school. Now the entire area’s being razed. A bulldozer sat there, empty, but it had done its job of clearing the trees. Making way for apartments, or offices. Building the future.

I have no future.

Why didn’t I just succumb to my desire for her? Every time I made her stop, I’d have to apologize. Over and over. Once, she asked, “Why won’t you just let yourself go? I know you want me.”

I said, “I do. But I need to feel this is forever.”

“Alix, you can’t be sure anything is forever.” She drew a circle on my forehead with a slash through it, and then traced a heart on my chest. Like, Follow your heart and not your head. Stop thinking so much.

She was right about forever being meaningless.

At the church I can’t help noticing all the red and white uniforms and letter jackets. Support from Swanee’s teammates. I recognize faces of students, teachers, coaches, admins. Up front are the Durbins—Jewell, Asher, Genjko, Joss. Joss is sitting apart from the family, at the very end of the pew.

The band finishes “Livin’ la Vida Loca” and the minister asks everyone to stand and pray. I can’t believe Jewell and Asher are having a religious ceremony. They know Swan was anti-religion. Genjko’s a Buddhist. He’s shaved his head and taken a vow of silence. One time I walked by his bedroom door and caught sight of this shrine he’d set up with a gold-painted Buddha. He was kneeling in front of it, burning incense. When he saw me, he shot to his feet and slammed the door in my face. I asked Swanee what Genjko meant and she said, “Buddha’s bitch.” It cracked me up. I Googled the word and found out the real meaning is “original silence.” Every time Swanee ran into Genjko, she’d make a thumbs-up sign and say, “Free Tibet, dude.”

Swanee was a sworn atheist. So is Joss. I doubt Jewell and Asher go to church. I remember we did when I was young. And it got harder and harder for Mom and Dad to make me go. Early intuition? When I came out to myself, I realized how unwelcome I’d be in any Christian institution.

Where do atheists spend the afterlife? I want her to be… somewhere. I want to meet her there.

People get up and read or recite testimonials about Swanee. Jewell tells how Swanee was walking by the time she was seven months old, and could really book it. Jewell was forever chasing her down. “She was destined to be a runner,” Jewell says. Her voice breaks and I feel my eyes welling. Jewell swallows down her tears. “She died doing what she loved most.”

That was true. Every day she had to get her mileage in.

Asher talks about Swanee growing up, how she took to sports. She could totally kick his and Derek’s butts at basketball. He doesn’t say out loud that she is—was—gay. Swanee wouldn’t be happy about that, either. She embraced her sexuality. I don’t want to say she flaunted it, but she was never shy about showing me affection in the halls. Or anywhere. Except my house.

Asher has a surprise. He videotaped Swanee’s last track meet, where she won the state title in the girls’ 800 meter.

Joss jumps to her feet and races down the aisle.

I can’t watch it, either. I get up and trip over people’s feet all the way to the end of the row, and then head toward the exit. Joss is outside, leaning against the brick wall, lighting up a joint. Breathing hard, she takes a hit and offers the joint to me. I decline. If Mom or Dad smelled pot on me, they’d ground me for life.

Like it’d matter now.

The crowd at the Durbins’ overflows into the backyard. It’s a cold day, this ninth day of February. Gray clouds threaten snow. The Durbins have a long enclosed patio, and they’ve plugged in space heaters so people won’t freeze. Still, I’m cold to the core. People sit or stand with paper plates of food, talking and laughing together. I don’t think anyone should be laughing.

Mom and Dad are inside paying their respects, I suppose.

“Hey, Alix.” A hand grasps mine. “We’re all really sorry about Swanee.” It’s a guy from the GSA. A group of them have come together, dressed in their rainbow regalia. If they start to throw glitter, I’m out of here.

You know what? I’m out anyway. As I head for the gate, I almost collide with Betheny. She opens her mouth to speak and so do I. But I can’t. I whirl and hurry inside to escape out the front door.

She has every right to despise me. It was my decision to drop out of ski club and mathletes. When you’re in love, you naturally spend less time with your friends. But that’s no excuse. I understood when Swanee asked me—or, rather, told me—I couldn’t go to Betheny’s birthday party last month. She didn’t put it that way, but I could tell she was mad I was even considering it. Betheny should’ve known Swanee wouldn’t be keen on the idea of me sleeping over, the way I always did. I’d be jealous, too, if Swanee was staying overnight with a girlfriend. Even a straight one, especially if everybody assumed…

“You don’t need her,” Swanee said. “You have me now. Anyway, cheers are all stuck-up sluts.”

I wanted to say, Not Betheny. She’s great.

But I didn’t.

I should’ve called or texted Betheny to tell her I was sick or something. All I did was not show up. After her birthday, she stopped calling. Which was kind of a relief because it gave me an excuse not to call or talk to her. At lunch she wouldn’t even look at me. But then she had her clique and I had Swan. So I guess all was right with the world.

On the Durbins’ kitchen table and counters are casserole dishes and sandwich trays, potato salad, veggies and dip, tortilla rolls, shrimp rounds, mini quiches.