Dear Mika,
I’m sorry for missing the vigil the other night. I’ve been talking to Sam these past few days. I think it’s interfering with incoming calls and texts, and causing things to slip my mind. Yes, our Sam. He’s still dead, but he can pick up the phone when I call him. It’s hard to explain because he hasn’t given me any answers on how any of this is happening. Anyway, I hope this helps you understand things now, and we can be friends again.
Julie
She’d probably turn it in to the counseling office to get me checked, and understandably so. I decide to hold off on theletter and wait for another chance to see her. It will give me time to figure out what to say.
Lunch is the only part of the school day I look forward to. Jay, Rachel, and Yuki always manage to brighten my mood. It’s Pizza Friday—Jay’s favorite day of the week.
“It’s America’s favorite pie,” he says, enjoying a second slice of pepperoni.
“Isn’t thatapplepie?” Rachel asks.
Jay shakes his head. “Really? I thought it was pepperoni.”
“I don’t think pizzas are considered pies,” Yuki chimes in.
I take out the journal Mr. Lee gave me and open it on the table. I’ve been thinking about what he said the other day.What story do I want to tell? Who am I writing for?The questions bounce around in my head as I stare at the blank page. I wish I could say I write for myself. But maybe that’s not the truth. Maybe I’m always writing for someone else. Like the English professors at Reed who might read this as my writing sample and decide if it’s good enough. What will they think of it? What if none of them care what I have to say?What do I have to say?And what if it’s insignificant to the rest of the world? I guess that shouldn’t matter, as long as it matters to me, right? It’s harder than it sounds, though.To write for yourself.Maybe that’s what Mr. Lee meant when he said we have too many voices in our heads. I wish I could mute them all so I could find my own. I tap the back of my pen against the table and keep thinking.
“That’s a beautiful notebook,” Yuki says. “Where did you get it?”
“Mr. Lee gave it to me.” I close the journal to show her the cover. The embroidered flowers reflect like jewels in the cafeteria light. “Someone donated it to the store last week.”
Rachel leans in to get a closer look. “It’ssopretty. Can I hold it?”
“I know, it’s almost too pretty to write in,” I say, handing Rachel the notebook. “Feels like I’m wasting pages.”
“What are you writing about?” Yuki asks me.
I stare at my hands in my lap, unsure. Then it comes to me, almost like memory. As if I always had the answer. “Sam. I’m gonna write about Sam. About us.”
Yuki smiles at this. “I would love to read it someday. If you ever want to share it.”
I smile back at her as someone approaches the table.
“Mind if I sit here?”
I look up at Oliver. He’s holding a plate of cheese pizza and a chocolate milk. I glance over at the other table with Taylor and Liam, and see them glancing over their shoulders, watching him.
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course you can.”
“Awesome.”
Oliver pulls a chair up right beside me, forcing Jay to scoot over.
“Hey Yukes,” he says, nodding at her from across the table. “How’s choir going? Any new solos?”
Yuki blots her mouth with a napkin. “Hopefully I’ll get one soon. We just had auditions for our next concert.”
“I’m sure you blew them out of the water,” Oliver says, opening his chocolate milk. “Remember that time you and Sam killed it at that karaoke room? Classic.”
I almost forget Oliver and Yuki know each other through Sam.
“We’ll see,” Yuki says, blushing a little.
“I’ll be there regardless,” Oliver says. Then he turns to Jay, resting an arm on the back of his chair. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Oliver.”
“Oh—I’m Jay.”
