MICHELLE
DECEMBER 17TH, 2004

SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE HER. The hair, the eyes, the posture, the figure, even the attitude. It's just like hers.

Maybe this was the universe's way of punishing me. That's what it feels like while staring at this duplicate of my dead best friend. I had a feeling if Chandler had lived twenty more years she would be this woman's identical twin.

The unwanted thoughts of that morning creeped into my mind at the reminder of my best friend.

I couldn't think about her anymore, not without remembering the way she was lying there, the way the color had left her face, how cold she was.

A shiver racked through my body despite how desperately I tried to hold it back.

She was so cold.

I hated how I still felt it even after all this time.

A warm hand touched my own and my immediate reaction was to flinch away, but I stopped myself, because for a second my mind wanted it to be her hand and I wanted to believe that she wasn't really dead, that I had just been having a bad dream.

But then I found his sympathetic eyes.

And I hated myself for being happy that my best friend had died just so I could look into his eyes.

His beautiful grey eyes that sent my heart in a spiral.

Was it wrong that I was a little mad at him for lying to the principal and maybe for hitting Nathan?

It's not that I wasn't grateful that he helped me—because I was—it was more because of the fact that he could get in big trouble for that kind of stuff.

I had done that a lot at my last school. I had gotten into fights, lied to authority figures, and was just a complete bitch.

And look where I am now?

My entire life had been uprooted and moved to another country because I couldn't keep my hands to myself and my mouth shut.

So far, it seems to be working for the better for me, but—to be fair—I didn't actually have much left in America after the events of last year.

He has so much here.

Too much to lose.

I don't want him to lose any of it.

It's stupid that I'm angry about something this small.

I shouldn't be.

All he did was help me.

I'm being dramatic.

"Michelle?"

Shit, had she said something?

"What?" I looked towards the front seat, finding Mrs. Kavanagh's eyes through the rearview mirror.

"When did you move here?" This was Mrs. Kavanagh—Edel's fourth question for me.

The first was how old am I, I answered that one honestly. Then she asked how long I've known the boys, also answered that honestly. Then she asked where I was from, once again, I answered that honestly.

"Late august." I answered honestly again.

"Why?"

I shrugged "needed a change." That wasn't the truth, but I doubt she would want to hear the depressing story that was my life last year.

I noticed a small frown make its way into her face "really?" I hope she didn't notice I was lying. I mean, I've always been a bad liar, but that was because everyone I tried to lie to knew me. She has known me for five minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Johnny and Gerard share the same half-confused-half-suspicious look.

Oh shit.

What had I told them?

I shrugged again "among other things."

I hope that didn't sound rude.

I noticed the small furrow in her eyebrows when she glanced over at her son in the passenger seat. Clearly she wants to know more, but thankfully, she didn't ask.

She moved onto another question. "Did your whole family move too, or. . ."

I shook my head as if she'd be able to see "No. I lived with my dad over in America and when I came here I moved in with my mom."

"Ah" she nodded. "And any siblings."

It was starting to feel like we're playing twenty-one questions, only she's the only one asking questions.

"Yeah," I haven't stopped thinking about them since they ran out of the lunch room. "Two—twins. Finnley and Maeve. They're thirteen, since August." I added as much information as I thought necessary, just to avoid anymore questions.

I wonder where they were. I hope Maeve was able to catch up with Finn.

His nose was bleeding. I hope it wasn't broken.

I sent maybe my tenth text to Maeve with the same mix of words "is he okay?", but she ignored it, just like she ignored all the other ones.

Was Finn mad at me? He seemed mad at me.

"Michelle?"

Oh shit.

Did she ask another question.

"I'm sorry?" I looked back towards the woman in the driver's seat.

Thankfully, she didn't seem mad at all. In fact, she smiled "I asked if they lived with you in America?"

"Oh." How do I explain this in as little words as necessary. "No—uh—we don't have the same dad. So they have lived here their whole lives with my mom and their father, while I lived with just my dad."

Long story made short. My mother—Quinn—and step-father—Declan—have been together since they were fifteen or something. My dad didn't really know much about it so I never got the full story. But one night in September 1987, Quinn (eighteen at the time) and Declan (nineteen at the time) got into a fight over something I guarantee was stupid (most of their fights are). Then, about a week later, Quinn's girlfriends had thought it was a great idea to take her out to a party, hoping it would help her get over her heartbreak. There, Quinn meets Andrew—my father—and poor choices lead to poor outcomes.

My dad didn't even know I existed till I was almost two. He stayed around for close to a month before going back to America and taking me with him.

Thankfully, I saw my house approaching in front of us, which meant I wouldn't have to answer anymore questions from this copy-and-paste version of my dead best friend.

"Here we are." Mrs. Kavanagh said, putting the car in park in my driveway. "I hope I'll see you again, love."

I gave the woman the best smile I could as I slid out of her car, dragging my backpack with me. "Yeah, me too."

I'm not completely sure I meant it, but I said it anyway.

Then I practically ran up the path to the front door.

AUTHOR TALKS!!
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