Hysteria (38 page)

She ignored the fact that I was standing in the kitchen with her. It looked like she
was fixing a tray to bring to Colleen’s room. “Can I take it to her?” I asked.

She waved her hands at it, which I guess was as much civility as she could muster
at the moment. I picked up the tray and walked to Colleen’s room.

Colleen smiled when she saw me and turned off the television across from her bed.
“Room service. What’s the occasion?”

“Ha freaking ha,” I said, and set it on the dresser so I could put the lap table over
her legs. She still had a bandage on her head, but that would heal soon. Her left
ankle was in a short cast, and she wiggled her blue toenails at me. “My mom did it
for me. It’s kinda nice having everyone waiting on me. Except when I have to pee.
Then it sucks.”

Her right leg was in a full cast. She’d had surgery. She’d walk fine after physical
therapy, the doctors promised. But there would be scars. I was there with her in the
hospital when they’d told her. I saw her face drop for a minute, and then she flipped
her hair over her shoulder. “Bad-ass chicks have scars. Right, doc?”

That poor doctor, who looked like he was barely out of med school, never stood a chance.
He blushed and looked away. “Yeah, scars are cool,” he’d said. And that’s when I knew
that Colleen would be fine.

I placed her lunch on the table and said, “So, I need to tell you something.”

She took a monstrous bite out of an apple and said, “Go on.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m going back to Monroe.”

Colleen swallowed the chunk of apple and pounded on her chest, like it wasn’t going
down on its own.

“You’re what?”

“On Monday. I’m going back.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “Dylan’s gone, you know. His mom is gone.”

“I know,” I said. Which was all there was to say, really. I didn’t try to explain
that I wanted to move forward
—
that I didn’t want to see the house where he had lived, or the streets that he had
walked on. I wanted to focus on the future, whatever comes next, like Reid did.

Colleen took another bite and watched me from the corner of her eye. “You better not
be ditching me for some
boy
,” she said.

I rolled my eyes and grinned. Like that was even a possibility. “I’m not,” I said.
“I promise I’m not.”

And I wasn’t. That day, two weeks earlier, when I stood on the ridge and saw all the
paths out of the woods, all the paths I could choose, I saw Colleen in every one.

“I’m mad at you,” she said.

“I know,” I said. And then I sat beside her while she ate. Colleen and me, we were
forever. Moving away wouldn’t change that. “Thanksgiving break is only a month away,”
I said.

“By the way,” she said as she chewed, “I like Reid for you.”

“Maybe in the next life, huh?”

Colleen passed me the apple. I took a bite and she said, “I’m pretty sure we only
get the one.”

I rested my head on her shoulder as she ate. And I thought of Krista and Taryn and
Bree, who were God knows where. Detention center, or homebound, awaiting trial. Awaiting
their fates. I used to think Bree was pathetic for wanting to be part of something,
no matter what the cost. But with my head on Colleen’s shoulder, I thought I understood.

Mom helped me pack the next day. I dragged my suitcase down the hall and paused in
front of my grandma’s old room. “Do you ever sense her?” I asked.

Mom jerked her head, like she was unprepared for the question, then shrugged. “Sometimes,”
she said. “Like if I’m thinking of something we did together. I think the memory keeps
her alive.”

I nodded and brushed my hand over my shoulder, where the handprint used to be. It
had scabbed over. Faded to a faint pink. I could only see the marks if I looked closely.
It would be gone soon.

“I’m ready,” I said.

This time, my parents drove me all the way up to Monroe. They helped me unload the
car and move into Bree’s old room, which felt odd, like her presence was left behind.
She had left that feeling in my old room, though, too. My old room had been converted
to storage, full of things that would soon be forgotten.

Dad patted me on the shoulder and Mom said, “We’re staying at the hotel overnight,
and heading back really early.” Then she pulled me into a hug and said, “Good-bye,
Mallory love. Be good.”

It was the same thing she’d said to me when she left me at the train station. But
this time I wasn’t mad. This time I hugged her back, because it felt possible.

I waited until after lights out. People knew I was back. It was the latest secret
up for distribution. Though it wasn’t a very good one. Nearly everyone knew. Reid
had to have known I was back. I didn’t know what it meant that he ignored it.

I snuck out my window
—
Bree’s window
—
and ran across the quad. I knocked on a window on the first floor, and some guy from
the soccer team opened the window and flinched. “Let me in?” I said. “I need to see
someone.”

He looked confused, still half asleep, but he reached a hand down and helped me into
his room. “Thanks,” I said. And as I left his room, I could imagine all the rumors
running through school the next day. The whispers, the secrets. None of them important.

I tiptoed up the flight of stairs and stood outside Reid’s door. And I froze.

For some reason, I was thinking of that night on the beach with Colleen, after the
fight with Danielle, after we slept on the cold sand. I was thinking of the next morning,
of her shaking me awake and the sky looking pink behind her. “Come on,” she’d said.

“What?” I’d asked, squinting against the new light.

“Let’s go swimming.”

And then I was awake. “This is when sharks eat,” I’d said. “No thanks.”

“There aren’t sharks here. Get up!”

“Ever see
Jaws
? There are so sharks here.” Then I’d rolled back onto my side.

“Fine. There are sharks. Two. Maybe three. In that whole goddamn ocean. What are the
chances?” She’d tilted her head to the side and pulled on my arm, and I knew she knew
she’d won.

I looked at the scratch Danielle had left on my arm. “This’ll sting.”

“Only for a second,” she’d said, and I knew she was right. “Unless the sharks smell
your blood,” she added. “But don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Then she smiled and showed
me her nonexistent arm muscles.

“Well, in that case . . .” I let her pull me up and we ran for the ocean.

And I thought that this moment, in front of Reid’s door, felt exactly like that, except
I was facing it on my own. Like racing toward uncertainty. Like anything could happen.
Anything at all.

I raised my closed fist and knocked gently.

Nothing.

I was about to knock again when the door creaked open. Reid rested against the door
frame, the door still mostly closed, blinking back against the light from the hall.
He stared at me, his mouth slightly open, his hair god-awful perfect, and shifted
his weight to the other foot.

I stared back. And I reminded myself that I was capable of absolutely anything. That
I was capable of this. I looked right into his eyes and I said, “I’m sorry.”

He let out a long breath, and he opened the door.

I took a step inside.

I thought again of swimming in the ocean that summer morning. We dove under the first
wave, and Colleen had been right. It stung. But just for a moment. And then my head
was above water again and I sucked in air and I looked around for Colleen. She was
swimming toward me, laughing. The swell from a wave moved around us, and she reached
out a hand for me.

And I thought forgiveness felt exactly like that. Like salt water and a moving current
and a hand, reaching out for me.

Reid’s fingers brushed mine.

I closed my fingers around his hand and held onto him. For this moment. And the next.

Acknowledgements

I am especially grateful for the following people who helped turn this idea into a
story
—
and this story into a book:

My agent, Sarah Davies, who sees the big and small of everything
—
from an idea to a book to a career
—
and whose guidance I rely on for all of the above.

My brilliant editor, Emily Easton, and the entire team at Walker/Bloomsbury, including
Mary Kate Castellani, Laura Whitaker, Katy Hershberger, Kate Lied, Kim Burns, Rachel
Stark, Beth Eller, Linette Kim, Nicole Gastonguay, Donna Mark, Emma Bradshaw, and
the folks at Bloomsbury UK and Bloomsbury Australia. It’s such a pleasure working
with you all.

The greatest critique partners a girl could ask for, who are also, coincidentally,
great friends: Jill Hathaway, who listens to every idea and reads every sentence,
and whose opinion I trust without question; Marilee Haynes, who is willing to read
everything I write
—
always; and Elle Cosimano, whose brilliant insight saved my revision. This book would
not be what it is today without their support. And Shelli Johannes-Wells, who reminded
me, early on, what kind of book I was writing.

My mother, who talks characters like she knows them and plot points like she’s lived
them. And my father, who is always willing to babysit so that I am able to write.

Mark Gartner, who answered every hypothetical question (and surprisingly didn’t end
up blocking my e-mail address), and who also watched over me for the five years I
was at his school
—
and never quite stopped.

Finally, thank you to my family and friends. I am reminded each day of how lucky I
am to have you all in my life.

Also by Megan Miranda

Fracture

Copyright © 2013 by Megan Miranda

Electronic edition published in February 2013

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this
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act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil
claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in February 2013
by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in- Publication Data
Miranda, Megan.
Hysteria / by Megan Miranda.
p. cm.
Summary: After stabbing and killing her boyfriend, sixteen-year-old Mallory, who has
no memory of the event, is sent away to a boarding school to escape the gossip and
threats, but someone or something is following her.
ISBN 978-0-8027-2328-4 (e-book)
[1. Death—Fiction. 2. Memory—Fiction. 3. Boarding schools—Fiction.
4. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M67352Hy 2013   [Fic]—dc23   2012015780