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Which means she did it for a reason.
Maybe it’s just another way of her pushing me out of my comfort zone, edging me to the cliff of my fears and promising my parachute will open, if I just get the courage to jump. Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Thanks. Thanks a lot, Sasha.
I clear my throat, my eyes zooming across the paper in a futile attempt to take it in before I speak the words.
“‘So,’” I begin reading, clearing my throat. Sasha wouldn’t do anything to embarrass me, I realize after what feels like an eternity. I find a way to step out of my own brain and just read.
“‘So, it’s my funeral. Let me guess … all one hundred and twenty-four of the seniors are here, right? So glad you made the ultimate sacrifice of your education to come watch me get lowered into the ground.
“‘I want to thank Raquel, my bestest friend on earth — I say on earth because surely I’ve made some killer best friends up here in heaven so far. Don’t worry, Rocki, no one will replace you. Prince and Shakespeare are just my temporary replacements until you arrive, hopefully old and wrinkly, because life is a gift and I want you to have a long one.
“‘So, back to my speech. I trust Rocki is delivering it with as much grace and just the hint of sarcasm that I would have used if I could somehow have been here to give it myself. Ten bucks says Rocki called me a firecracker in what I’m sure was a beautiful eulogy. She never let me read it, but I know she worked hard on it.’”
There’s laughter, and I can’t help but grin as I wipe away some tears and keep reading. “‘Mom and Dad —’” I pause here, trying to read ahead before I say anything aloud, and then I look over at Mr. and Mrs. Cade. Their expressions look as blissful as though their daughter has crawled out of her coffin alive and well for a private conversation. Now I know why she left this note. It’s not for me, or even for our peers — it’s for her parents. I clear my throat and start again.
“‘Mom and Dad, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the greatest parents a girl could ever have. Thank you for choosing me all those years ago. I know Great-Grandma didn’t like that I was mixed race, but you still picked me even with all the family drama. You guys are the best. The absolute best, please know that. Don’t ever doubt it, no matter what. I’m sorry I had to go so early. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you grandchildren. But please know that my years with you guys as parents meant the world to me.’”
There’s a line drawn at the bottom, separating one final note from Sasha. I see the words
Rocki you don’t have to read this part aloud.
So I don’t. I fold up the paper, let the tears fall freely and step down to where my mom opens her arms and takes me into her embrace.
***
The next morning, Friday, I get dressed for school, still not sure if I’m actually going back. I’m not ready to face the world or pretend to have a normal day when nothing will ever be normal again, but the walls of my bedroom are starting to close in on me. And too many missed school days will only mean I have to make up the time, so school feels like something I should do. Something Sasha would want me to do.
Sasha’s surprise eulogy rests on my nightstand, the special postscript message now etched into my brain since I’ve read it a million times.
I know you want a sign, and you’re about to get it. Love you!
Last night, I might have spent an embarrassing amount of time searching the internet for ways to hear from a dead person. All I got was weirdo nonsense, famous TV personalities who claim to be mediums and charge a ton of money, and a whole lot of people saying that kind of thing is impossible.
I push a thick black headband over my eyes and up, lifting the hair out of my face. If Sasha is going to give me a sign from the afterlife, I’m sure she can do it while I’m at school.
The curse of attending a school as small as PCHS is that there’s nowhere to hide. You can’t exactly blend into a crowd when there’s no crowd to begin with. I’m aware of the eyes on me as I make my way through the parking lot and into the school. Part of me even regrets some of the personal things I said at Sasha’s funeral. Even though I was saying them for her, everyone in this hallway heard them, too.
I keep my head down and give a polite but tight smile to the few girls who say hello to me. My mom told me to be myself, even if myself was still mourning and wanted to be left alone.
Zack finds me in the hallway after first period. He’s wearing a hoodie over a pair of neon-orange board shorts, with flip-flops.
“My beautiful girlfriend is back,” he says, falling into step with me as I walk toward the English hallway.
“Hey.” It’s pretty much the only thing I can be bothered to say right now. Sure, I’m no longer crying, but the pain has cracked open a hole in my heart that’s bigger than the Mariana Trench. Suffice it to say that small talk is not on the list of things I am capable of.
In fact, that list is about four things long.
Sleep.
Walk.
Breathe.
Eat.
The rest of the student body and my teachers have all accepted that. Not Zack.
His meaty arm slings around my shoulder, protecting me from the parade of students rushing to their next class. I lean against him, allowing his body to be my shield.
