"Where have you been?" I heard my mom scream as soon as I walked in the front door.

"Out," I muttered, walking to my room.

"I was worried sick. I know you go for runs every morning, but it's three in the afternoon."

"I ran into a friend and we got food." It wasn't technically a lie, after leaving Grabbing Grove, Wesley and I stopped for a quick bite to eat before he dropped me off ten houses from mine, giving him a chance to leave before my mom could see.

"Next time, text me. I bought you that phone, the least you could do is use it." I nodded and waited until she closed the door behind her to relax and bury myself under the covers.

It still had that new car smell that clouded the garage. The beige leather of the seats had no cracks or creases. The radio still had a plastic cover on it waiting to be peeled off. The floor mats weren't covered in smushed Goldfish like her old car was.

"Have you picked out a name for it yet?" I asked, teasing her. She nodded and opened the driver's door.

"I was thinking Cherry Bomb," she said once I sat down. "What do you think?"

"I love it, Ly," I said as she rolled back the convertible top. She clicked the garage opener and pulled out and down the sloping driveway. We drove around Sedona that day. Doing nothing. Doing everything. We ended up by the lake, our feet dipping in from our positions on the pier.

"Do you know what college you want to go to yet?" she asked.

"I was thinking University of Reddington, my dad's alma mater, but there's no way my mom would let me go."

"Where's your dad living now?" she asked, kicking her feet through the water.

"Somewhere in Nevada, I think. A few hours away."

"We should go there. Tell him to convince your mom to let you go to Reddington." I shook my head and traced the ridges of the wood pier.

"I haven't seen him in years. It's not fair to reach out now, when I want something."

"Of course it's fair, Charlotte. He left you and your mom and hasn't done shit for you since."

"He sends money every month to keep us afloat."

"That's the least he can do. It's the bare minimum."

I sighed and leaned back on pier, looking at the clear sky. "Can we not talk about him or college right now?"

I felt Lyla move to mirror my position, her lean and long figure slouched to keep us even. "Okay. I love you, Charlotte, but I really need to teach you to be stronger and bolder. You need to learn to speak up for yourself. Tell your mom to back the hell off and tell your dad to back the hell on," he said, shielding her eyes from the sun. "I want to make sure you'll be fine on your own one day."

I nudged her shoulder and she turned to look at me. "Why do I have to do that when I can have you fight and do all my dirty work for me?"

Her laugh woke me up. Her laugh always sounded like a spicy honey. Spicy in strength and sound, but sweet in tone and melody.

I didn't have her to back me up anymore. I'm not fine on my own. My mom was still too involved and my dad was still too uninvolved.

I turned over in my bed and grabbed the hot pink frame of us from my nightstand. We sat on the hood of her car, Cherry Bomb. A half empty bag of Goldfish between us. We took that picture at the lake, setting her phone against a tree to set a timer. It took us fifteen tries, but we finally got it. She looked like an angel and I looked like someone forever stuck in Limbo. Her bright blond hair reflected the bright red paint of the car where as my sunburnt skin blended in.

I set the frame back down and pulled open the drawer of my nightstand. Keeping my eyes fixated on the ceiling, I grabbed for the spare bag of Goldfish I kept close for emergencies. Instead of the bag, my hand found a piece of paper. Curiously, I pulled it out and unfolded it.

i.o.u. a bag. love, lyla

I smiled and returned the paper to the drawer.

For the first time in the week since her death, sleep came easy to me.

——

My first Monday back was filled with tight hugs from people I barely knew, boys talking about her ass and 'what a waste' it was, girls trying to tell me how much Lyla meant to them, like Lyla didn't trash talk about them during our sleepovers.

After picking up the necessary books for my next class, I caught sight of Wesley. One look at him and I could tell we were having similar days.

He waved at me before ducking to get a drink from the water fountain. I didn't know what to do around him at school. Do we hang out become 'the dead girl's fan club'?

I shook the thought from my head when I saw him approaching me.

"Hey, Charlotte."

"Hi."

"I wanted to see if you wanted to help me clean out her locker during lunch." I nodded and told him I had to get to class.

By the end of fourth period, my knee was bouncing under the table. The thought of cleaning out her locker equally excited me and terrified me. I wanted first dibs on any of her school supplies and the makeup in there, as well as, collecting our photos and keepsakes. I was terrified because I knew her tendency for leaving bagged lunches her mom packed in her locker before buying something from the cafeteria and of the potential of what lies beyond the maroon metal door and combination lock.

I met Wesley and the school janitor, Tom, by her locker after everyone had made it to the cafeteria. Tom smiled and used a bolt cutter to open the locker. Wesley and I thanked him before her wandered down the hall.

We silently counted to three before I opened the locker, revealing it to him first. I looked at his face for context clues and smelled for old ham sandwiches, but got nothing.

"How bad is it?" He didn't respond and furrowed his brows. I pulled the door fully open.

Her normally 'organized chaos' of a locker was empty except for a letter with our names and two purple polka dot gift bags also labelled. Wesley and I looked at each other before I picked up and opened the letter.

Dear Charlotte and Wes or whichever unfortunate soul is now in the awkward position of reading a dead girl's locker letter,

I could hear the humor of her voice in the letter.

I can understand that you both are every angry at me. I don't want to go into the reasoning of my decision, but know that it was not an easy one. I love you both so much and tried for months to fix myself. I wished I could have and I feel like I let you both down. This is a generic letter so before either of you bitch about an impersonal letter, there's one in each of your bags.

Love you both,

Lyla Rose Porter

I handed Wes his bag and he tore into it, not caring to save the packaging. He pulled out a stack of movie theater photo booth strips, each with a small message on the back. The bag seemed bottomless as he continued to pull out photos and trinkets of their time together like a pack of gum, game pieces, and a snow globe from an amusement park they went to over a long weekend.

While he read his letter, I opened my bag. One by one, I pulled out the items.

A pressed flower from the day we accidentally drove over her mom's roses in the garden.

Her coveted makeup bag filled with brand name bottles and tubes.

A bag of goldfish with a note: told you i owed you one

The last thing in the bag was my letter. I carefully unfolded it and let my eyes read row by row.

Charlotte,

My oldest, most trusted, and best friend. I love you. Forgive me for making this short and sweet, but there just isn't enough room on this sheet for everything I want to say. Anything I want to say to you, I have said to you in our thirteen years of friendship. Please know that this was my decision and choice. You couldn't have done anything to stop this and neither would I want you to stop this. I'm happier now, I know I am.

Despite what you think, you were always stronger and bolder than me. I put up a front, but you have a fire deep inside of you to push through and come out whatever pile of shit is thrown your way smelling like daisies. You are so strong. You are so bold. You are so amazing.

Now that the sappy time is over, I know that you know why I did what I did, but I have something I need you to not do for me if that makes sense.

The next part was all in caps which she only wrote or typed in when she was serious.

YOU CAN NEVER TELL WESLEY WHY. IT WOULD KILL HIM.

Promise me?

Love, Lyla

I took a deep breath and looked up to see Wesley smiling. "What did yours say?" he asked.

"I-I'd rather keep that to myself if you don't mind." I folded then shoved the note into my wallet.

"Of course, sorry, Charlotte," he paused and picked up his gift bag from the floor. "I'm going to go put this in my locker. Want a ride home today?" he asked and I nodded, waving goodbye as he went to his locker.

——

Sliding my bike lock into my backpack, I rolled it over to Wesley's car where he was waiting. He helped me put it on the rack of his car then slid into the driver's seat.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologized as I buckled my seatbelt. "Mr. Twyler had held me back apologizing for my loss. I think I heard that at least twenty times today."

"I think they meant well," Wesley reasoned, pulling out of the school lot. "I don't know what I would say in that situation." My head leaned against the window as I stared at the passing trees.

"Lyla loved you a lot," I told him, a small smile appearing on his face.

"I loved her a lot, too," he responded. "She told me in the letter that she loved me and that I deserved everything wonderful in the world even if that didn't include her and that she would always cherish the time we spent together and she hoped I would do the same." He had a stupid grin on his face the whole ride to my home, him recounted the letter I'm sure he had memorized in its entirety.

When he pulled up at the 'drop off house' down the street from my house.

"Thanks," I said as he pulled my bike down. "I'll see you tomorrow."