Ten by Gretchen McNeil

Author:Gretchen McNeil [McNeil, Gretchen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780062118806
Publisher: Balzer + Bray
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY ONE

I SHOULD JUST END IT ALL NOW.

Wasn’t that what Lori wrote in her suicide note? Like, word-for-word?

Meg dropped the journal. Suddenly it felt dangerous. Off. Just like everything else in that house.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. “Ending it” must be a common sentiment in suicide notes, and though the author of the journal didn’t sound like she was on the brink, there was clearly something slightly troubled about her. So yeah, it could just be a coincidence. Right?

Meg shook her head. Too many coincidences this weekend. How did that journal end up in her room? Another coincidence? Like the song from the DVD being the same as the sheet music from Lori’s suicide note? And the damaged handrail?

No. Meg didn’t believe it. And T.J. thought there was more to it than just a series of accidents too or else he wouldn’t have asked her to keep quiet about the railing. He was worried everyone would suspect there was something weird going on and they’d panic. She wanted to show him the journal immediately, but she had no idea where he’d disappeared to. Damn.

She needed him to see what she was seeing. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, a little light had gone on. These occurrences were all related. They had to be. And she needed to know why.

Meg picked up the journal and turned to the next entry.

It’s happening again.

They told me things would be different this time. That I could start over. Tom promised me things would be different.

Meg’s mouth went dry. Promises you could never keep. Once again, the journal sounded all too familiar.

I know I haven’t written in a month but, ugh, it’s been awful. I had to drop out of choir. I went to talk to the director, just like Tom said. He told me that I had a really beautiful voice, but he expects his soloists to sing what’s on the page. And my interpretation of the song was too freestyle.

I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. My “friend.” She was the one who told me to improvise, to take it off the page. She lied to me on purpose so I wouldn’t get the solo. I thought she was my friend. Yeah, some friend.

I tried to explain that it was all a misunderstanding, but instead of hearing me out the director got angry. Really angry. In front of the whole choir. He said that if I had a problem with his decision I was free to resign.

Everyone stared at me. I wanted to fall through the floor. And how could I stay in choir after that? Now I don’t get to sing at all and The Boy will never love me. All because of her.

I went to confront her at lunch but she wouldn’t even look at me. Wouldn’t acknowledge me standing there. Just ignored me. I couldn’t help it at that point. I started crying right there in the cafeteria. That jerk from P.E. was sitting at the table behind me and he started fake crying, “Wah, wah, wah.

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