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The night I died was supposed to be my prom night.
It was supposed to be a night of satin and lace, limos and hotel rooms, stolen kisses and cherished mistakes. While my classmates laughed and danced and snapped pictures, I climbed into my bathtub in my exquisite pink dress and emptied my mother’s Vicodin bottle down my throat.
Lucy always seemed pretty badass when she had a few drinks in her, but Jodi knew that the real reason she stole guys’ drinks was because she knew they wouldn’t be drugged.
“Zackary Thrasher, you’re under arrest for the harassment and statutory rape of Emily Mills.”
Maybe it wasn’t being lonely she was afraid of. Maybe it was being alone.
In a voice like crackling fire, Paige whispered to Jodi, “She wants to talk to us.”
She scoffed to herself, shaking her head at how unfair it was to all of humanity that Julian Hollister knew how to wear his clothes.
My friends’ lives don’t revolve around me? I got sad, and getting sad got me sadder?
“You didn’t like her,” Hannah said matter-of-factly, shrugging. “It happens. But you don’t have to like someone to be kind to them. You came over after school and talked with her. You let her annoy you. You gave her something to look forward to every day. I think that’s being kind.”
She looked up at him and saw him frowning. She had the distinct impression that Zack Thrasher hadn’t gotten what he wanted for once in his life. She smiled.
