A voice sounds behind me. “I was hoping you’d get up at the service and talk about Swanee,” Jewell says. “Maybe share some special memory?”

I try to smile at her. I want to explain that in our short time together we made so few memories that I don’t have any I want to share.

“Eat,” Jewell says. “Asher ordered enough food for an army.”

“Jewell, the Zarlengos are here,” Asher calls from the living room and Jewell hustles off.

As I’m meandering through the crowd to let Mom and Dad know we can leave now, I sense movement behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Betheny coming toward me. I duck into the back hallway. Damn. Someone’s in the bathroom.

At the end of the hall is Swanee’s room. The door is closed, but I feel her presence. She’s waiting for me. I know when I open the door, she’ll jump out and shout, “Surprise!”

She’s such a prankster.

I twist the handle, push, and… nothing.

She is here, though. Her essence. I know this room so well: the clothes and shoes on the floor; the bed, dresser, desk, closet; the cacophony of colors on the walls. Smears of blue and green and purple over a bloodred base. We were going to repaint her room and she couldn’t decide what color, so we were trying different samples. She never did decide. All her movie posters are still up. She was a Johnny Depp fangirl. She has pictures of him everywhere, movie posters from Edward Scissorhands, Pirates of the Caribbean, Finding Neverland Alice in Wonderland. She even got newsletters from his online fan club. Joss is a member, too.

Netflixing Johnny Depp movies was one thing we could do at my house. She was so mesmerized by him it was like I wasn’t even there. Except that one time both Mom and Dad had to leave for a while and asked if I’d watch Ethan. “Sure,” Swanee said before I could object. Why did she choose that day to forget about her obsession with Johnny Depp and focus on me?

Her bookcase is filled with trinkets, toys, old dolls. Next to the bookcase are stacks of books. The first time she brought me here, I remember saying, “Did you know you were supposed to put your books in the bookcase?”

She gasped. “Seriously?”

Her track trophies are displayed on every available surface—dresser, desk, nightstand, windowsill, floor. One time I tried to count all her trophies. I got to sixty-five before giving up. She has Arvada High Bulldog paraphernalia everywhere—pins and banners and caps. How does someone in her shape just drop dead?

I want to feel her, smell her, see her one last time. I want to taste—

I’m startled by the pinging of her cell. It’s on her bed inside an oversize plastic envelope. I walk over and read the envelope. Hospital issued. Swanee’s clothes and shoes are in it, too. This must’ve been what she was wearing.

Why hasn’t Jewell unpacked the bag? Unless she just couldn’t bear to.

I unzip it and pull out the shirt, lift it to my face. Swanee’s scent is so strong, it steals my breath away. When I close my eyes to inhale her, the phone pings again. I know that ringtone. A text message.

Who would be calling? Surely everyone knows by now. The phone stops before I find it, and I pull out Swan’s sweatpants. They’re folded, like the shirt was. If I unfold everything, will Jewell get mad? I’ll make sure to replace the contents exactly as I found them. The cell pings again and I dig to the bottom of the envelope. It’s inside her shoe, so maybe Jewell didn’t see or hear it. Maybe a nurse packed Swanee’s belongings. Her cell is so distinctive, with its glittery purple cover and bejeweled S W A N on the back. It glows in the dark.

Only Swan would have a glow-in-the-dark phone.

I slide to unlock the cell and see numerous texts and voice mails. I can’t answer her voice mails because I don’t know her password. I can read her text messages, though. There are 108 unanswered ones. Who in the world…?

The first was sent the day Swanee died, at 5:10 AM.

Buenos dias cariño. Hope you had a good run. Call me when you get home

Who sent this? I was still asleep, still oblivious. Happy. Whole. The caller is LT.

LT. I don’t know anyone with those initials.

“What are you doing in here?”

I spin around. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Joss says from the doorway. She’s eyeing the bag on the bed, the emptied contents. I hide the cell behind my back.

I say, “I just wanted to…” What? Find Swanee alive?

“Joss.” Jewell appears behind her. “Why don’t you go entertain your cousins?”

“Those f**king morons?” Joss says.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Why? You don’t.”

Jewell turns her around bodily and swats her butt. Joss gives her mom the finger behind her back.

Jewell says to me, “I can’t even bring myself to set foot in here.” Her eyes travel around the perimeter. “You don’t see any mice or roaches, do you?”

I smile slightly and shake my head. Exhaling the breath I was holding, I say, “I didn’t mean to go through her bag.”

Jewell stares at the open bag as if it doesn’t even register on her reality scale. She blinks and looks up at me. “Does your room look like this?”

“Pretty much,” I lie. I’m a slob, too, but Mom forces me to clean once or twice a month.

Jewell points to the window and says, “Would you mind closing that?”

Swanee always liked her window open a crack. She never got cold. Unlike me. I’m always cold.

I see the snow is really coming down. I pull the window shut and lock it. As I’m turning around, Swan’s cell pings again and I panic. It’s still in my hand. Jewell must not hear, though, because she’s leaning against the doorjamb, tears streaming down her face.

I put the phone on vibrate and stick it in my back pocket.

Jewell opens her arms to me and I go to her. “We didn’t even get to say good-bye, did we?”

Her tears revive my own.

“Life is so precious,” Jewell says in a sob. “So short.”

We hold on to each other until the wave recedes. Jewell’s smoothing my hair back when I see Mom turn the corner. “Your father and I are ready to go,” she says. “If you are.”

I want to stay here now. Be close to Swan.

Jewell backs off, wiping her eyes. I ease Swanee’s door shut behind us, but for the life of me, I can’t release the handle. Can’t let her go.

I say to Mom or Jewell, “Swanee borrowed some things from me.”

Jewell asks, “Do you need them today?”

“No. I can come back.” I need to come back.

“Come tomorrow,” Jewell says. “Call first.” She walks over to Mom, who’s balancing Ethan on her hip, and tenderly touches his chubby cheek with the undersides of her fingers. “Hey there, sweet cakes,” she coos.

Ethan whines a little, and then winds up to let loose. “He’s tired,” Mom says.

Jewell twists her head to meet my eyes over her shoulder. “You’re always welcome here, Alix. Don’t be a stranger.”

Chapter 4

My mother obviously has a sixth sense. I never told her I had a girlfriend, but one morning at breakfast she asked, “When do we get to meet her?”

I felt blazing heat rising up my neck. “Who?”

Mom checked her BlackBerry. “What about Friday night? You could bring her home for dinner.”

I muttered, “We’re going out.”

“Go out after dinner,” Dad said. It wasn’t a request.

Our relationship was so new and fresh, I didn’t want anything to spoil it. What if she didn’t like them, or vice versa? Surprisingly, Swanee seemed kind of flattered by the invitation.

She must’ve smoked a ton of weed before she came, though, because she couldn’t stop giggling and her eyes were bloodshot. I could see Mom and Dad exchanging glances.

During dessert, Dad asked, “Where are you two going?”

“Ice-skating,” Swanee said.

Really? I thought we were going to a party. Skating sounded much more fun.

On the way out, Dad pulled me aside and handed me his keys. “You drive.”

I snagged Swanee’s sleeve and told her, “I have to drive.”

She covered her mouth and snort-giggled through her fingers. “Busted,” she said. “Wha’ gave me away?”

Her slurred speech? The bottle of patchouli she’d bathed in.

The next morning I got a text at 6:48 AM:

I picked up my car after my run. Your dad’s a total a-hole. Do your parents hate me?

No, of course not, I texted back. My dad has strict rules about DUI or riding with anyone who isn’t sober

I was perfectly fine

Except she fell asleep before we even got there. What I didn’t add is that is one of Dad’s rules I actually agree with.

The next day Mom told me she and Dad wanted to get together with Swanee’s parents. “Why?” I asked. Were they going to rat her out?

“Because that’s what parents do,” Mom said. “They get to know one another.”

In what century?

“Oh my God!” Joss shrieked when she heard. “Can I go? I have got to see this.”

“Can she?” Swanee asked me.

“I don’t know why not. Ethan will be there.”

“What about Genjko?” Swan asked. “He is the family conversationalist.” Joss cracked up.

I hoped that meant they weren’t serious.

It ended up he didn’t come, thank God. I admit I was already more than a little worried about Mom and Dad’s reaction to Jewell and Asher. Swanee’s parents are free spirits—in an ultracool way. Asher has a long ponytail, and Jewell shows off a lot of skin with her fake-bake tan.

The evening turned out okay. Swanee wasn’t high, and neither was Joss. Aside from the bottle of wine that Jewell and Asher put away, everyone was on their best behavior.

The next time I saw Jewell, she asked, “Did we pass inspection?”

My face flared. “With flying colors.”

Mom and Dad never talked about the Durbins, even though I had a strong suspicion they didn’t approve. And Swanee was careful never to come over again stoned, which I appreciated. If Mom or Dad had forbidden me to see her, it would’ve been all-out war.

LT’s messages go on and on.

6:10 AM: I left you 2 vms. Wassup?

6:15 AM: You were going to text me before you left. Remember?

12:02 PM: Are you having fun? Wish I could’ve gone with you to Keystone today. Next time

“There won’t be a next time,” I think out loud. Who is this?

2:12 PM: Call me when you get home. Te amo, mi amore

Swanee was taking Spanish this year as an elective. Personally, I plan to take something fun like photography or screenprinting.

Amore, I repeat to myself. Doesn’t that mean love?

There were texts throughout last Saturday, into Sunday, and the whole next week. I lie in bed and try to scan them all. A lot are half English, half Spanish.

8:23 AM: Mass this morning then my little bro’s b-day party at Chuck E. Cheese’s . I probably won’t see you this weekend. CALL ME. Te extraño mucho

Monday. 9:03 AM: I’m texting in Am. Hist. Snooze alert. Where are you?

In an urn, I think.

11:45 AM: Call me. Text me. I’m on my way to lunch, but I’ll keep my cell on

1:34 PM: Why haven’t you called? Are you OK?

“No,” I say. “She’s not okay.”

2:10 PM: Practice. But I’ll be done by 3. CALL ME. I left you 100 vms

An exaggeration. Still, I wish I could listen and see who this person is.

3:22 PM: What did I do? Are you mad at me? Please, Swan.

Tell me what I did

It’d be a kindness to call this LT person and let her know Swanee will not be returning calls or texts.

I’m startled when my cell rings. It’s after midnight.

“Would it be okay if I came over?” Joss asks. “I need to get out of this f**king asylum.”

I feel for her, but I can’t wallow in her grief, plus mine. Plus, I don’t think Mom and Dad would be too thrilled about her showing up at this hour.

“I’m tired,” I tell her.

She hesitates a moment, and then disconnects.

Another text comes in from LT:

Please, Swan. Call me. Le amo con todo mi corazón

Whatever that means.

My curiosity gets the best of me. I hit Recent Calls and redial Joss.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she says sarcastically.

I deserve that. “Do you know anyone with the initials LT?”

She pauses. “Why do you ask?”

I could tell her I stole—borrowed—Swanee’s cell. Or not. “I saw the initials in Swan’s room when I was in there.”

“Who gave you permission to go in her room, anyway?”

“No one. I was just…” Trespassing? Trying to resurrect her from the dead? Joss was either barred from the room or had more respect than I did.

“Who’s LT?” I ask again.

“Where did you see the initials?”

Where? “On a piece of paper.”

There’s such a long pause, I think Joss has left me hanging.

“Joss?”

“You don’t want to know who she is,” she says.

“Why?” I ask.

She disconnects again. God, she can be so irritating. On Swanee’s cell, I open her contacts list. Great. Her entire list is initials only. AVP. That’s me. Alix Van Pelt.

AD. Asher?

GD. Genjko?