All Chapters of The Boy Who Died: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

MarcieEvery rustle in the bushes or shifting shadow makes me jump. When I finally reach the door, my fingers shake around the keys. My lips buzz like they’re reminding me of what just happened, making it impossible to forget. I just kissed Ben. Ben just kissed me. And I still don’t know if I’m crazy, or he’s exactly like Ryan.When I finally force the door open, Heather twists around on the couch.“Holy shit! Text next time, okay?” she says. “I thought you were getting ax-murdered or something.”I take a deep breath. I’ve really enjoyed having someone in my life who doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. That’s at least half the reason I stopped living with my assigned roommate from freshman year. That, and her weird obsession with cabbage. But Heather is the only friendly face inside the mile or so to Dana’s office, and I feel like I’m about to rattle out of my skin. I close the door behind me, and the dam breaks.“My best friend in high school was named Ryan Evers.” Oh, God, I haven’t

MarcieThe sun shines down on my shoulders as I march along the path to class the morning after my date with Ben. Bright and warm. Just like I’m going to be.Because he’s going to be in class today.After weeks of avoiding the photography syllabus like it’s a snake, I finally took a look last night. Each Ben-class is marked with a little asterisk, like an inescapable black hole.I then checked Professor Washington’s dictatorial attendance policy. “Expedition” classes, which all of Ben’s are, can only be missed once a semester before you just fail.So, I adjust my backpack and practice my smile. I’m totally, completely normal. I went on a bad first date last night. Half the campus probably did. And at least half of those people have to face their bad-date-ee in class today. Statistically, I wouldn’t even stand out on a graph.I freeze at the doorway to the classroom. Ben leans over one of the desks, fiddling with something in a black bag. A camera bag. Nothing scary.My heart crashes a

Marcie“I’m glad your schoolwork is going well.” The next day, Dana takes a few notes and glances over her glasses at me. “But you know we’re not just here to get you to graduation. How have things been socially?”“I think I’m actually better friends with Heather.” I smile. Ever since my Ben-Ryan confession, she’s been really sweet. Waiting the extra five minutes before leaving for work so she can check in with me. Picking up snacks I like from Bean and Gone. Asking me to hang out. I’ve been kinda by myself for so long that I forgot what having real friends is like.“That’s wonderful.” Dana smiles. “Do you know what precipitated the change?”I stare at the geometric pattern on her carpet. After class yesterday, I broached the topic of Ben with Heather again. Not anything about the date, just…the idea of trying to be friends with him. Build up my tolerance–or whatever. Heather recoiled like I said I was going to try meth just to see what it was like and spun off on a huge speech about

MarcieFor real, I text Ben, I need to know where we’re going so I can get dressed.With the message sent, I return to pacing back and forth in my room. I’m going to wear a track in the carpet, but it’s 5:15, half an hour before Ben’s supposed to pick me up for our second date, and he still won’t tell me where we’re going. I told him to pick me up because hiding where I live from him was crazy, and I’m not crazy.Tell that to the billion and a half outfits I’ve considered and discarded, now covering my bed.My phone vibrates, and I nearly break a nail opening it, desperate for it to be the email from Theresa that still hasn’t arrived.Just a response from Ben. Close-toed shoes. And (as much as I hate to say it) probably not a skirt or dress. Embrace not knowing!!Apparently, the surprise is part of what will make this date so special. Maybe I have enough to get dressed, at least.He texts that he’s here as I’m finishing my braid. I race into the living room. Heather and Everett are cu

MarcieI open the email with shaking fingers. The body is nearly empty, just one line of inscription in the middle: All I could find. Sorry. But I don’t care about that. Every molecule of my body narrows in on the attachment at the bottom. I click, and the picture fills my screen.She obviously took this from under a table. No, a desk. I recognize the speckled, tan plastic that covers the bottom third of the image. Ryan leans close to the phone she was probably using during class with a goofy smile, his blue eyes crossed. It’s a strange, slightly blurry picture.And I don’t care about that either because I was fucking right.I don’t need to open the picture I took of Ben after the night I spent with him. I’m not crazy. The two of them look identical. Same sandy blond hair with a few darker streaks. Same soft blue eyes. Same big ears, though they fit Ben’s grown-up face better than Ryan’s teenaged one. Same everything.My stomach riots. My heart joins it, bouncing off my quickly collap