The Fall Read Free

don’t even know who in the world I am.”

 
    THE SHRINE
    At the shrine, there’s lots of things.
    Teddy bears, flowers, candles, rings.
    Somebody left a CD case, maybe a song
    in there meant something, I don’t know.
    Pink strings, heart-shaped balloons, hand-made
    friendship bracelets, photographs, white
    Crosses, ballet slippers, notes about now
    being in a far better place, the letters
    â€œR.I.P.” constructed with duct tape and
    aluminum foil, a T-shirt signed by every girl
    That’s ever walked the earth, and on and on
    it went, everybody leaving their mark,
    Their scent, I was here, I peed on this tree,
    see how much, how deeply, how dearly I care.
    I just stand and stare and stare. No tears
    come, but my teeth clench. I remember
    thinking: I don’t know if I can do this.

 
    WHAT’S DONE IS DONE
    I had a talk with Fergus today. Morgan had been gone for a week. Dead and buried. Most of the shock had worn off, and things shifted back to normal. Newspaper reports talked about how she was “terrorized on social media,” but nothing more had come of it.
    No “bullies” were named.
    Rumors flew, but the cops didn’t arrest anybody. Morgan’s parents didn’t seem interested in pressing charges. They kept to themselves.
    We were all relieved.
    The news moved on to the next disaster. A typhoon in the Philippines … Killer wasps in China … A shooting in a mall somewhere in Texas … Another celebrity in rehab.
    The coast was clearing.
    I was worried anyway. Before I climbed on the bus after school, I saw Fergus by the bike racks. “Do you think the police will find out about … you know?”
    Fergus didn’t even turn his head to look at me. He kept spinning the numbers of his combination lock.
    I persisted. “I mean, obviously they know. But will they find out who posted those things? Can they trace a computer’s IP address or whatever?”
    â€œThose sites are encrypted. It’s anonymous. That’s the whole point, Sherlock. Besides,” he added, wrapping the chain around his seat, snapping the lock shut, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam. What did you do?”
    (What did I do?)
    It hit me like a baseball bat. Right on the sweet spot.
    Fergus spat. “I wasn’t involved in any of that shit.”
    â€œBut—”
    He stood tall, the bike frame resting against his muscled thigh. Fergus placed a powerful grip on my shoulder. He glared, leaned close, and spoke softly, hardly above a whisper. “Listen, Sam, friend. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t care. What’s done is done. So shut up. Okay? I mean it. Don’t ever, ever, ever talk about this again. Not to me, not to anyone.”
    Fergus pulled back his right hand and gave me a short punch to my chest. Not a hard one, but a message just the same. Two words: Shut up. And two more: Or else.
    A voice called and Fergus waved to someone behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Athena Luikin waiting by the main doors. She stood looking at us, arms crossed below her perfect breasts, long blond hair, mouth tight. I raised my hand, howdy, but she offered no reply. Queen bees don’t often greet the drones.
    My brain roared like the sound of ocean waves against a rocky shore, a blur of white noise. I was enveloped in fog. Suddenly the sky cleared, the sun came out. I could see how it was going to go.
    The plan was set.
    We were going to deny everything … and it was all going to be okay.

 
    BLANK
    Today
    I got nothing.

 
    FILLING IN THE BLANKS
    Remember the activity sheet I took from school? The mental gymnastics that were supposed to help me heal? I guess I shoved that sheet in my desk drawer. I’m staring at the crumpled thing right now, here in my bedroom.
    1) The person who died in my life is …
    a) Um, dead?
    b) Morgan Mallen.
    c) A girl I kind