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  With a sigh, I walk to Mrs. Hernandez’s doorway. She sits at her desk and glances up, her eyes wide in surprise. “Julia.”

  I stare at a worn spot on the carpet. “Mrs. Hernandez, sorry about yesterday.”

  She stands and moves around her desk. “No, that’s quite all right. You’re entitled to some tears.” She lowers her head to look into my eyes. “Sometimes it actually helps.”

  I nod. Maybe that explains why I feel different.

  “I’ve been working on lining up your tutors.” She walks back to the other side of her desk and opens a file. “You’re failing two classes and you have a D in Trigonometry and History. I had several possible tutors but organizing a schedule was a nightmare, as you can imagine. Thankfully, I have a volunteer to tutor you in three of your classes.”

  A volunteer? I can’t imagine that anyone would volunteer. I look up in shock.

  “Evan Whittaker has offered to work with you on Trig, History and English.”

  I sit down in the chair in shock. “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Despite what you think, Julia, the entire student body is not out to get you.”

  After lunch, I’m no longer sure about that, but I keep my doubt to myself. “When do I start?”

  She smiles. “This afternoon if it works for you. Evan said he could meet you in the library after school.”

  Evan. I take a deep breath. Can I sit next to Evan and concentrate? Do I have a choice? “Who’s my other tutor?”

  “Maryann Sweeney. She’ll help you with Chemistry on Monday afternoons. You and Evan can work out your schedule for the other classes.”

  Later, I’m anxious when I get to History, but Evan faces the front of the class, ignoring me like half the students. The other half cast snide looks in my direction. When class is over, Sarah pulls Evan into the hallway, nudging her head in my direction as I pass. Her mouth pulls into an exaggerated pout.

  I hurry to my locker and remove several textbooks. They’re too heavy for my backpack so I balance them on my hip as I debate whether I should go to the library and wait for Evan. I have serious doubts he’ll show up after talking to Sarah, but I don’t want Mrs. Hernandez to say I bailed. I’ll go to the library and wait ten minutes then when he doesn’t show, I can at least say I’ve done my part.

  The library is deserted with the exception of a couple of students sitting around a table working on a project in hushed tones. The librarian perches behind her desk, the tapping of her keys echo with a muffled sound. I sit at a wooden table that seats six and stack my books in a neat pile, lining the edges up. I glance at the clock. 3:10.

  I pull out a notebook and doodle, not even thinking about what my hand is doing. If I think about drawing, my fingers tighten around the pen or pencil and the lines stiffen. But when I relax and let my hand go, intricate swirls and patterns fill the page.

  Lost in my artwork, I check the clock, surprised to see it’s already 3:23. The ten minutes are up. I’ve even given him three extra minutes. I stand with a sigh, surprised by my disappointment. Did I really think he’d show?

  Hauling my backpack onto the table, I unzip the bag and stuff my textbook inside.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Chapter Three

  I spin toward the voice behind me.

  Evan stands with several textbooks in his arms, his eyebrows lifted.

  I scrunch my mouth and shrug. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  He drops the books on the table, a loud thud filling the room. The librarian looks up as Evan slides into the chair next to me. “Why not? Didn’t Mrs. Hernandez tell you I was?”

  “Well… yes… but I waited and you didn’t show up.”

  “I had to go around and talk to your teachers. Find out what they wanted me to work on. As it was, I only got to two of them, but I figured that was enough for one day.” He rests his forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together in a casual pose, yet they tremble slightly. He looks nervous. His head leans forward and he turns to study me.

  A blush creeps up my neck.

  “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say,” he says, then looks flustered. “In ages,” he tacks on, like it’s an afterthought.

  “You missed my speech in English Lit earlier.” I immediately regret bringing it up. I’m not sure why Evan is sitting next to me, but I’m curious enough I don’t want him to run off yet.

  He opens his history book. “So I heard…Sarah gave me quite an earful.”

  “Yet, you’re still here.”

  His dark eyebrows rise. “Sure, why not?”

  I shrug again. “Because of Sarah. You two have history.”

  He looks confused. “Umm…”

  “You two decided you were king and queen of the fourth grade and have ruled with an iron fist ever since. Don’t you all have a pack mentality? Share a brain cell?”

  “Ha. Ha.” He grimaces. “Very funny.” But a genuine smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

  “Seriously.” I lower my voice. “Why are you tutoring me?”

  “Why not? What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is you barely acknowledged my existence before the accident, and let’s face it, no one acknowledges my existence since.”

  He seems at a loss for words and taps his pencil on the open textbook. “Community service,” he finally says and shrugs. “I need it to graduate.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’d rather sit in a library tutoring you than working in a food pantry. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but so be it.”

  I stare at a deep gouge on the table. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but for some reason, that isn’t it.

  “History or English Lit?”

  “What?”

  “What do you want to work on, History or English Lit?”

  My answer is neither, which doesn’t seem appropriate given the circumstances. “History, since you have the book already open.”

  He pulls a note out of his textbook. I recognize Mr. Archer’s handwriting scribbled on one side. “Wow, you’re really behind,” Evan finally says. “What have you been doing the last month?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Nothing.”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The strands curl around his fingers and remain out of place even after his hand lowers. “It was kind of a rhetorical question.” His blue eyes look up into mine. “Honestly, Jules, I don’t know how we’re going to pull you out of this.”

  I suck in my breath. “What did you call me?”

  His mouth drops open as his eyes widen. “I… is it not okay to call you Jules?”

  “No one calls me that. Not anymore.”

  He raises his hands up in surrender. His face droops in defeat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His face falls into his open hands as he groans. “I think we should call it a day.” He sits up straight, shutting the history book. “It’s obvious we’ve gotten started on the wrong foot. You need to read first anyway, which I’m presuming you haven’t done. You pretty much have total recall of everything you read and you don’t know any of this stuff. Read Chapter Seven, the one starting with the end of World War II and we’ll try again tomorrow.” He stands and picks up his books.

  I stare up at him in disbelief as he turns and walks across the library without giving me a backward glance.

  Releasing my breath, I try to figure out happened. No one has called me Jules in six months. And I have no idea why he thinks I have total recall. Even if I had it, he never spoke to me before today so how would he know?

  I groan. He must think I’m a total freak.

  I’m pissed that I even care.

  Turning around, I half expect Evan to show up again, but the room is empty except for the librarian and the students working on their project, two tables down. As I pack up my belongings, I realize some of the old me returned today. In
stead of slithering into a hole, I returned Sarah’s insult. I had a conversation with Evan— perhaps a stilted one, but it’s a start.

  Yesterday. It all began changing yesterday. If only I could figure out what happened in the cemetery. Who showed up?

  I shake my head. No one, that’s who.

  Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I head out of the school. The air is crisp. I gather my jacket into my fist to keep out the chill and look back before crossing the street toward home. Over in the student parking lot, Evan leans into a car window. He appears agitated as he swings an arm toward the football field where the team is practicing. It occurs to me that Evan is supposed to be with them, out on the field.

  Why isn’t Evan at practice?

  Curiosity gets the best of me and I walk down the sidewalk running parallel to the street, toward the car that has Evan so upset. About halfway there, I stop and lean my back against a tree, facing the street.

  What am I doing? It’s no business of mine who Evan talks to or why. In fact, before yesterday I wouldn’t have even cared.

  What is wrong with me?

  I push away from the tree to cross the street and glance over my shoulder. My feet stick to the ground when Sarah gets out of the car. She’s shouting as she jabs a finger into Evan’s chest. “…you need to get your priorities straight.”

  He backs up and throws his hands into the air, saying something unrecognizable as he walks to his car.

  Sarah yells at Evan’s back. “What’s with your sudden fascination with her?”

  She whirls to get into her car when her eyes find me. We stand frozen. The venom in her eyes is evident even from this far away. I shake myself from her stare and turn back to cross the street.

  The cold wind seeps through my jacket as I walk the two miles home, but it’s Sarah Chapman’s hatred that makes my legs shake. Sarah is capable of making my already miserable life even worse.

  I suppose I’ve brought this upon myself with my response to her in class. If I’d only kept my mouth shut. Yesterday, I would have stared out the window pretending I hadn’t heard her instead of letting her remark burrow beneath my skin.

  By the time I get home, Anna’s already slouched on the sofa watching TV, her eyes glued to her recorded show. I slip into the kitchen and drop my backpack on the table then heat up some water for tea. I pull out my history book and turn to Chapter Seven—the Marshall Plan. When the tea’s ready, I sit down and read.

  “I think I’ve walked into a time warp.” My dad stares at me in disbelief, but a tiny smile shows his pleasure.

  I haven’t seen my dad smile in months. When he’s not avoiding me, he’s arguing with my mother. Giving him my best smart-ass grin, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “What? I can’t study?”

  He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering longer than necessary. “Oh, you’re perfectly capable of studying,” he says as he stands. “It’s the sudden motivation to do so that’s caught me by surprise.”

  I shrug. “It’s study or change schools. Easy choice.”

  “Wise decision.” He sets his laptop bag on the table. “Does this mean we get to work together like old times?” Eagerness fills his eyes, then softens as he tries to hide it.

  I tilt my head with a smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to make up, so why not?” But I secretly hope he will. I realize how much I’ve missed him. Ever since the accident he spends most of his time in his study.

  He ruffles my hair like he used to when I was little. I loved it then, but the last couple of years I always complained. He hasn’t done that since Monica… My breath catches in my throat.

  Suddenly, it’s all too much, too fast. From nearly despondent to returning sarcastic barbs with my dad, it’s overwhelming. As the panic attack begins, I catch the disappointment on Dad’s face. An invisible band constricts around my chest and my heart races. My head swims with terror, overcome with the feeling that I’m about to die.

  My mother walks into the kitchen, still in her scrubs from her nursing shift at the hospital. Her eyes bulge. “John, why are you just standing there?” I hear her angry question through the thick haze in my head.

  “I wasn’t… I didn’t know what to do,” Dad stammers.

  “Maybe you would if you paid more attention to what goes on around here.”

  From my peripheral vision, I see him turn and leave the room. The sting of his rejection and the guilt of causing this wedge in my parents’ relationship only intensifies the attack.

  “Is Julia dying?” Anna stands in the doorway, terror on her face.

  “No!” Mom shouts, then softens her voice. “No one is dying. She’s having a panic attack.”

  My face tingles as I try to suck air past the tourniquet around my trachea. I look up into Mom’s face for reassurance.

  She stokes my hair. “You’re okay, Julia. You’re okay, deep breaths.” Her words are soothing, as if she’s talking to a small child.

  My eyes burn with tears as I hiccup tiny breaths into my lungs.

  “Thatta girl. You can do this.”

  After several minutes, my heart slows and the tightening of my chest loosens. I lay my forehead down on the table, closing my eyes.

  I find it ironic, when the nightmare of my attacks eases, that someone so ambivalent about living fights so hard to survive.

  Chapter Four

  This morning I wake with a dull ache in my head and for several seconds consider begging my way out of school, but I’m only delaying the inevitable. Whether today or next week, Sarah Chapman still has to be dealt with.

  Dressing in my usual jeans and long sleeve t-shirt, it occurs to me that last year I would have gone toe-to-toe with Sarah. Monica would be pissed to see me do otherwise.

  Stopping mid-stroke with my hairbrush, I study my face, unsure who this person is staring back in the mirror. It’s me but not. This new girl who’s taken my place is stoic and hard around the eyes. Her face is thinner, more angular than before.

  It seems fitting that the lines of my face match the hardness of my heart.

  But the fortress has begun to crack and I’m unsure whether to be relieved or dismayed. Instead, I choose to ignore it.

  I head to the kitchen to grab a Pop Tart, worried about running into my dad. After my panic attack, I spent the rest of the evening in my room, especially after hearing he and mom argue throughout the night. In a matter of seconds, I destroyed what little progress we had made in fixing our relationship.

  But he’s not there and his car is missing from the driveway. Mom stands in front of the stove and the smell of bacon fills the room.

  I open the cabinet and pull out the Pop Tart box, stuffing a foil package into the pocket of my backpack.

  She pivots her upper body with her hand on her hip. “Julia, I’m making pancakes and bacon. Your favorite.”

  My mouth waters at the thought and I cast a glance toward the clock, inwardly groaning at the time. “Can’t Mom. I’ll miss the bus.”

  “You don’t have to ride the bus. The bacon’s almost ready. You can eat and then you can drive to school in the Honda. You’ll get there in plenty of time.”

  My head grows fuzzy at the thought of driving. “No, the bus is fine. Really. I like riding the bus.”

  “You have to drive sometime. You can’t put it off forever.”

  Her words follow me out into the cold morning.

  The morning passes without incident. It’s as though the last two days never happened. I’m back to being invisible to the entire student body at James Monroe High School.

  Everyone but Evan.

  He stands outside the door to English Lit with the faintest hint of a smile, watching me approach. Sarah drapes on his arm like she’s his latest fall accessory. Leaning her head to his ear, her eyes find mine, and her mouth lifts into a satisfied smirk. The message is loud and clear. Evan is mine.

  Why she sees me as a threat is a mystery.

  I skirt past them and take my usual seat in the back,
the muscles of my shoulders cramping with anxiety. Fight or flight, my body is prepared either way.

  But it’s a false alarm. Sarah sits next to Lindsey, both facing the front. After the bell rings, Mrs. Jacobs fidgets in her seat as she takes role, her eyes darting around the room. I understand why after she announces the topic for today. Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death.”

  The grip on my pen tightens as my hand doodles. I slouch over my desk to avoid eye contact with anyone, but a few heads turn my way, gauging my reaction.

  It’s a stupid short story about deaths caused by a plague, which has nothing to do with me. Yet in their eyes, anything about death has everything to do with me.

  Mrs. Jacobs and other students read parts of the story aloud and it occurs to me the piece has more to do with me than I suspected. I’m like the Red Death, sulking around the halls, the students afraid to approach me.

  When the bell rings, everyone files out of the room while I stay in my seat. I stare out the window, past the road that curves toward the cemetery, in the direction where the accident occurred.

  In a mere instant, everything changed at that spot in the road. One moment Monica was alive, the next she was gone. But I’m gone too, left with this shallow shell. I’m Monica’s Red Death.

  “Julia?” Mrs. Jacobs’ worried voice interrupts my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “Do you need to go to the nurse?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Halfway to the door, I realize my backpack is still on the floor. I turn back and grab the strap, then bolt from the room. Dealing with other people is something I can’t face at the moment, so I head to my secret lunch spot.

  A month ago, I discovered the choir room is always unoccupied during my lunch period. The hall in the music wing is empty, but I still look around before darting in. This room is off limits and if I’m caught, I’ll be in more trouble than I can afford. But the benefits outweigh the risk.

  I cross the room and sink to the floor in the corner behind the piano. It’s a good thing I’m not hungry since I didn’t bring lunch.