Reluctantly, I take it. Once I’m on my feet, I straighten my blazer.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and the words staring back at me make my fingers go numb.
Mallory Adler:
I need to see you.
6
EMMA
My lungs constrict as I run through the school, too disoriented to think of anything other than the fact I saw Mallory in that window. I know I should be wondering how this is possible, but I don’t care about that right now.
It feels like a dream, but at the same time my hand running along the wall feels so real. Specks of dust float in the air, and everywhere I turn my fellow students’ voices are crisp. If I were dreaming, the details around me would be muffled and blurry.
I need it to be true. I need Mallory to be sitting in that classroom.
I can hardly breathe as I move through the school because I’m forcing doubt out of my brain. I’m guided by such a strong need for her to really be here I can’t think of anything else.
I walk into the last room on the second floor, and my heart almost bursts. It’s impossible, and yet, in the far corner of the room she sits with the sun shining on her beautiful dark hair and rosy pink cheeks.
My heart swells, wanting nothing more than to touch her and make sure she’s not in my imagination or a twisted hallucination my brain concocted to cope with her death.
Tears fall from my eyes like water breaking from a dam, pouring down my cheeks like I’m a little kid. I start crying hard enough I should be embarrassed because there are so many people here to witness it.
School hasn’t started yet, but most of her class is seated and waiting for the bell to sound. Eyes fall on me, and I can only guess what they’re thinking. I probably look mangled, sobbing in the front of their classroom with no explanation.
Mallory’s attention is focused on the book sprawled open on her desk. She has a notebook next to it and she looks between the two, scribbling notes down.
She’s so perfect. So beautiful sitting there exactly the way I remember. When I think about Mallory, I always picture her studying because that’s how she spent most of her time. Nothing made her happier than getting a good grade. She’d proudly bring her report cards to our parents with a big smile, waiting for their admiration. Even as she grew, Dad would introduce her to others as his little genius.“She’s going to be the valedictorian.”She would’ve never admitted it, but his little praises made her blush. She’d do just about anything to make him proud.
“Can I help you?” Mallory’s teacher asks, stepping away from the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker in his hand. His brow dips and he steps closer, tilting his head. “Are you okay?”
I almost don’t hear him. All I can focus on is my sister, and I find myself wandering closer to her. Everyone else melts away, disintegrating into my peripheral. Their desksblend into the background, and if they say anything, I don’t hear it. She’s the only one in the room.
Mallory’s eyes flick up and widen as she clutches her notebook, gripping the paper until it crinkles. “What are you doing?”
My lip wobbles and I thrust my arms out toward her, engulfing her in a hug. Her fruity shampoo and vanilla perfume fill my senses, only making me squeeze her tighter. I’ve pictured this moment, longed for it, dreamt of it every day since she died, but I never actually thought she’d be here in my arms again. “I missed you.”
I’m crying so hard I choke. The tears get caught in my throat and I gasp for air.
Mallory has always been good at everything, from knowing the most bizarre words in a spelling bee to making friends like it’s easier than breathing.
What she isn’t good at is making a scene. She avoids them like the plague. She knows what’s expected of her and she never ventures outside of the box. I, on the other hand, have the habit of drawing attention in ways she doesn’t want to be a part of. I was born embarrassing her, but right now I don’t care.
Mallory stiffens seconds before jumping out of her seat and grabbing my hand, tugging me out of the classroom. When we’re in the safety of the hallway and out of the view of her classmates, she lets go, tossing my hand away.
“What’s wrong with you?” she whispers. Loud whispers. It’s barely a whisper if I’m being honest, but the attempt is there.
She’s mad. Really mad, but doesn’t want people to hear her scold me.
It’s hard to see through my wet lashes, but once I rub myeyes, her red and annoyed face becomes clear. I missed that too. Her face is narrow and pale, with ruby lips that put mine to shame.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. All I want to do is hug her again and be abused by her vanilla perfume, but I know she’ll push me away. We were never really a touchy family. I like hugs and being close, but the rest of my family prefers their bubbles.
She gestures in the air. “Why do you always have to do things like this? Throwing a fit won’t change my mind.”
“What do you mean?”
