Choker (6 page)

Zoe slid out from under the dust ruffle, a dustball clinging to her hair. “I guess I’m initiated now.”

“Seriously.” Cara exhaled and made her way back to the window. “That was a close one.”

Outside, the EMTs were still working on Sydney. They’d turned her head to one side. She still wasn’t moving. Over and over, they pressed on her chest, then squeezed a blue bag they had attached to a tube in her mouth. Finally, one EMT got up, leaving the other one to continue CPR, and drew Alexis to the side. His words floated up on the cool autumn air. “So just how much did your friend have to drink?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Alexis said woodenly. She stood in front of him, twisting her hands, her huge eyes locked on Sydney’s still form. “I don’t know, we were all drinking. She had a lot, I guess. I fell asleep. Is she dead? Oh my God, is she dead?” Her voice rose to a hysterical scream. She pushed at the EMT suddenly, trying to shove him aside to get over to Sydney. He caught her by the shoulders.

“All right, I know you’re upset. Where are her parents?” He poised a pen over a small notebook.

“They’re gone. They’re at their country place,” Alexis sobbed. “Please tell me, please tell me, is she dead?”

“Oh my God, freak-out alert,” Zoe muttered. “Somebody give the girl some Xanax.” Cara giggled involuntarily, then clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified at herself.

The EMT snapped his notebook closed. He nodded at the other EMT, who rose from his crouched position next to Sydney’s form and raised a radio to his mouth. He said something unintelligible into the speaker. They lifted Sydney onto a hard orange stretcher and secured her body with straps. Cara’s breath caught as they pulled a sheet up over her face.

So that was it. She was dead.

Alexis had fallen silent. She stared at Sydney’s body on the stretcher, still covered by the sheet. With the silent efficiency of furniture movers, the EMTs hoisted the stretcher and maneuvered it around the tumbled deck furniture and through the side gate to the front of the house.

Cara sank down on her bed as the sirens started up again and then wailed away into the night. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this,” she said. The scene outside had an air of unreality. As if the whole thing had been part of her dream.

Zoe sat down next to her. “I know. She must have tripped and fallen in, right?”

Cara nodded. “I guess so. She was really drunk.” She shivered violently at the memory of Sydney’s head swinging limply when they dragged her out of the pool.

Cara closed her eyes and felt Zoe’s warm hand on her hair, stroking it over and over. At last, she was able to lie down again on the bed, and a long time after that, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 6

T
HE ANNOUNCEMENT CAME OVER THE
PA
DURING
homeroom on Monday morning. “
All students are to report to the gym immediately for a mandatory assembly
,” the tinny voice of Ms. Sitwell declared. Cara’s eyes darted around the room. She’d been waiting for news of Sydney’s death since walking into the lobby half an hour ago. But no one seemed concerned. Students rose from their seats, talking, cramming notebooks into their bags. Alexis’s seat was glaringly empty.

“Tell me what they say at school,” Zoe had urged as Cara left that morning.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Cara asked for the hundredth time.

Zoe had sat cross-legged on the bed, the covers rumpled up around her waist. Her face was puffy in the seven o’clock light. “Stop being such a mommy. Look, I have snacks, magazines, the laptop. I’m set—now go, or you’re going to be late.” Zoe waved her toward the door.

Now Cara hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders as she made her way through the sea of people toward the gym. The red-drenched scene in her memory seemed more dreamlike than ever in the light of day, eclipsed by mundane concerns like finding clean underwear and drinking orange juice at breakfast. But Zoe had been there—she saw it all too. It really had happened.

The enormous steel gym bleachers were packed when Cara arrived. She squeezed onto a corner of a bench next to two freshman girls, each listening to one earphone of an iPod. There was a deafening roar as everyone shouted to one another, rummaged through backpacks, and texted their friends, even though cells were forbidden during school hours. Cara quickly scanned the crowd for Alexis. She didn’t see her. Her eyes landed on the rest of the girls from the party sitting close together on a top bleacher, whispering to one another. No one else seemed to notice anything was amiss.

“People, people!” Mr. Barre, the principal, stood in front of them, his bald head shining as though it had been waxed. He was flanked by two women and a man in slacks and a sweater, as well as the guidance counselor, Mrs. Laudeman. He tapped the microphone in front of him. “Hello? Is this on? Hello?”

The physics teacher jogged up and turned the switch at the base of the microphone. He offered Mr. Barre a smile before jogging back.

“Thanks, Rob.” The mike whined and some students covered their ears. Mr. Barre cleared his throat. One by one, everyone fell silent. “Students, I’m afraid I have some sad news for you this morning. One of our juniors, Sydney Powers, died at her home this past Friday night.”

A collective gasp passed through the crowd. One of the little freshmen next to Cara pressed both hands to her mouth. Mr. Barre opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted by the bang of one of the gym doors. Everyone’s heads swiveled as one.

Cara straightened up at the sight of Alexis staggering in, Ethan at her side. He had his arm around her, steadying her, since she seemed barely able to walk. The students were quiet, as if waiting for a performance to start. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t believe she’s gone,” Alexis muttered over and over in a trembling voice.

Ethan guided Alexis to a space in the front row. People gave them respectful glances as they moved aside to make room.
Like she was her freaking sister or something,
Cara thought. She caught herself. Alexis’s best friend was dead, after all. She chided herself for being so cruel. That was more like something Zoe would say.

At the front, Mr. Barre cleared his throat and went on. “We’re going to miss Sydney, who was a cheerleader and a tireless supporter of this school.”

Tireless supporter of her bitchy friends,
Cara imagined Zoe saying. She could almost see her friend next to her on the bleachers, sneaking gummy worms out of her backpack and doodling on her sneakers the way she used to in fifth grade. Cara shook her head violently, drawing a curious glance from the little freshmen.

Mr. Barre went on. “We know this loss will be difficult, so we have arranged for counselors from the Lifespring Center for Grief to meet with students who so desire immediately following this assembly. And of course, our own guidance counselor, Mrs. Laudeman, will also be available to anyone who would like to talk.” He gestured to the people standing behind him, who stepped forward. There was a general rustling and murmuring as students stood up and started gathering their things. A handful trickled down to the counselors in the front. Mrs. Laudeman arranged them in small groups.

Cara stood up and grabbed her backpack. The odor of ancient sweat and gym shoes hung in the air. She could feel a trickle of sweat start at her neck and run down into her bra. She stumbled down the concrete steps, once painted white, now worn to a smooth brown gloss from thirty years of sneakers. People stood in the way, choking the aisle. Stupid people, all talking, blocking the way.
The smell
. It was getting stronger.

“Excuse me,” Cara said to a girl in a one-shoulder blouse in front of her. The girl didn’t hear her. Forget it. Cara pushed past her, but her toe caught on a corner of the bottom bleacher. She stumbled. A pair of hands caught her by the upper arms.

“Careful there!” Mrs. Laudeman said in her strong, take-charge voice.

Cara resisted the urge to pull her arms away. Mrs. Laudeman smiled and released her grip. “Do you want to join one of the small groups, Cara?”

The muscle at the corner of her eye jumped. Cara shook her head. “I have a class,” she mumbled, brushing past the counselor. Her eye was twitching like mad now.

As she struggled through the mass toward the door, she passed Alexis sitting on a blue plastic chair, Ethan standing next to her. One of the counselors knelt in front of her, holding her hands. Some of the other girls from the party were clustered close behind.

“I don’t know how I’m going to go on living without her,” Alexis was sobbing. Her eyes were so swollen from crying they looked like little slits. Ethan patted her shoulder, his face downcast.

“Sydney seemed like she was much loved by her friends,” the counselor said in a professional, soothing voice.

“Oh, she was!” Maren piped up. “She was so much fun. And so sweet.”

“Yeah, she’d do anything for you,” Erin chimed in. There were collective nods.

“The best thing any of you can do for Sydney is to carry her legacy with you.” The counselor was addressing the group now, looking pointedly at each face as she spoke. Everyone nodded vigorously.

Cara exhaled through her nose and continued her fight toward the door. God, if she could just get outside. She had her hand on the push bar of the doors when the microphone behind her started up again.

The feedback whined. Cara turned around reluctantly. A burly football player Cara vaguely recognized was standing at the mike, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his jeans pockets. His name was Mike or Mack or something. He leaned over.

“Hey, everyone.” His voice boomed through the gym. The chatter dropped to a hum. People turned around. “So, Homecoming starts on Thursday. And you know, Sydney was a cheerleader and a huge fan of our school, so—” He cleared his throat. “So, you know—”

Get to the point, Mike. Mack.

“—I just want to encourage everyone who has games and meets this weekend to play for Sydney.” His voice rose at the end of the sentence, bouncing off the walls, and he raised his arm in a fisted salute while everyone else broke into cheers.

In one swift motion, Cara turned around and slammed through the heavy doors, the fresh air blowing against her face at last. Breathing heavily, her fists clenched, she took a fast lap around the parking lot, her sneakers slapping the smooth black asphalt. At last, she slowed. She could feel her eye gradually stop twitching. Cara leaned her head on a nearby Explorer, the sun-warmed roof hot under her forehead. Tears suddenly pricked her eyes. Sydney was dead and everyone was acting like she was the most beloved person in school.

Stop worrying about those jerks, Cara,
she imagined Zoe saying.
They’re not worth your time
.

What if she herself died? Cara thought. No one would even notice. Her parents would, but they’d probably be relieved they wouldn’t have to talk to their awkward teenage daughter anymore. Cara lifted her head and drew her knuckle across her eyes.

Well, at least one person would care. Zoe would miss her.

Chapter 7

O
N THURSDAY NIGHT, CARA CROUCHED AT THE SIDE OF
the track in the warm-up area, stretching her right hamstring. She pressed her forehead to her knee, trying to ignore the bubbling feeling in her stomach.

Above her, moths swarmed the big halogen lights, committing ritual suicide by flying directly into the hot bulbs. The shiny metal bleachers seemed to float in the black night like a silvery ship, friends and parents bundled in colorful parkas scattered throughout. It was a pretty big crowd for track, probably because it was Homecoming. Her parents, naturally, were working. A big deposition, Mom said. Absolutely essential that she be there. It was okay by Cara. They didn’t need to be here for this train wreck.

Carefully, Cara tucked her right leg under her and stretched out her left. It felt a little tighter than the right. She flexed her foot and reached for the toe of her spikes. Bending over made her stomach feel worse. Out in the grassy center, the long jumpers were sprinting up their jump path over and over. The sand pit in front of them was still smooth and unmarked. Cara could hear the grunt of Sammy Nelson, the shot putter, as he flung the heavy iron ball with a thud into the grass.

Runners were standing and sitting in their blue and white warm-ups. No sign of Ethan, though. He must still be in the locker room. Coach Sanders walked by, rapidly flipping pages on his clipboard. Cara watched as his blue-nyloned legs stopped near her. “Lange, the four hundred is first up.” His disembodied voice came from up high.

Cara made her head nod and watched as his legs tramped away. She bent her head toward her leg, feeling the muscle in her calf cramp slightly.
Oh God, don’t let me choke
.
Not at Homecoming
. Her last couple of races had been . . . not so good. A greasy sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead as she thought of the meet against Racine. Her feet glued to the starting blocks. The sharp crack of the gun. The backs of her teammates receding down the track. She’d hobbled over to the sidelines, claiming a massive leg cramp, and even though no one said anything, Cara could feel them looking at her in the locker room after the meet, and whispering.

Not tonight, not tonight
. Things were different now. Zoe was here. Cara closed her eyes and tried to summon the strength of her friend at home. Zoe wouldn’t be scared. She’d burn up the track. Cara felt the cramp in her calf loosen and, with a wave of relief, pressed her head all the way down to her knee. Her hamstring didn’t feel tight anymore.

Cara stood up and leaned against the chain-link fence. She dug a piece of peppermint gum out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth. The sharp bite of the mint cooled her tongue. Slowly, the sick feeling in her stomach dissipated. A breeze blew by her face, with a hint of wood smoke from distant bonfires.

Nearby laughter rose in a puff on the wind. Sarit, Rachael, and Julie were clustered a few yards away, their heads together. Sarit gestured at her throat as she murmured to the others. Cara’s heart sank. Not here. Not after this awful week, and right before her race. She tried to arrange her face into an “I don’t care” expression, but she knew it looked like a mask. Whatever strength she’d channeled from Zoe flowed away.