Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

“Do they have to know that I was involved?” Courtney asked.

I thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.” I started to get up.

“Where are you going?” Courtney asked.

“I told you. I have to speak to Adam.”

“So call him.”

“No, Courts, this is something I have to do in person. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

She heaved a big sigh, as if she thought I was making more out of it than necessary. But I was certain she was wrong.

“So,” I said a few moments later in the car. “Back to my original question. Why Adam?”

Courtney gazed out the side window and didn’t answer. I had a feeling she was fed up with me. If my intention back at Starbucks had been to patch things up, I’d done a really bad job. Now I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I just knew I didn’t want to leave everything unresolved. We were getting close to her house, and I pulled off to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Courtney asked, sounding very annoyed.

“Waiting for an answer.”

“I thought you were in a big rush to go see Adam.”

“Is it really going to take that long to tell me?”

Once again Courtney rolled her eyes as if I’d just taken her to a new height in exasperation. “What is your problem?”

“Look, I can understand why you didn’t want to tell me about Adam before. But now that I know, why can’t you say why? I mean, if you were just looking to hook up, there are plenty of other studmuffins you could have chosen.”

Courtney stared at me. “Ohmygod! Are you jealous?”

“No. I’m just … I don’t know. Maybe I feel protective of him. We’ve been friends for so long.”

“You don’t own him.”

“I think I’m aware of that,” I said. “And he and you and everyone else is free to do whatever they want. But seriously, Courts? Why Adam?”

My friend rapped her deep-purple nails against the Starbucks cup that she’d brought into the car with her. Suddenly she reached for the door handle and yanked. The next thing I knew, she grabbed her bag from the back and got out. “Thanks for the ride and the coffee. I can walk the rest of the way from here.”

Wednesday 3:31 P.M.

Oh, dear, Lucy, look at you, huddled in the corner with your arms around your knees. You are looking awfully gaunt and dirty. You do look thinner. It’s so sad. Lack of water and food will wreck havoc on your beautiful figure. Oh, Lucy, just imagine yourself without your perfect figure. What a tragedy it would be to look just like the rest of us.

Are you shivering? Well, it has gotten colder, hasn’t it? And all this rain. What’s this? Look at your arms and legs. Scratching yourself until you’re bloody? How odd. Was that something your medications were supposed to prevent? Or are you just trying to show us that you’re repenting? Repent all you want, my dear. We’re sorry, but it won’t bring you salvation.

* * *

ONE DAY WHEN Adam and I were seven, we played doctor. Ever since then, we’d teased each other about whose idea it had been, each of us claiming we’d been talked into it by the other. But the truth, at least as I recalled, was that we’d both been willing participants. And it was a secret we’d never shared with anyone else.

I don’t know if that was what helped me feel comfortable with him, but he was always more like a brother or a cousin to me. Someone I knew I could trust and depend on to do the right thing.

The Pinters lived in a large old house with a brook running behind it. Even though it was cold and damp from the earlier rain, Adam’s younger brothers were out in the driveway playing basketball. They paused and briefly stared at me when I parked down the driveway. Then they went back to playing ball. They seemed used to girls coming by to see their older brother.

I went up to the front door and rang the bell. A few moments later I heard Mrs. Pinter cautiously ask, “Who’s there?”

“Hi, Mrs. Pinter, it’s Madison.”

The door opened. Given the size of her sons, Mrs. Pinter was a surprisingly small person with dark hair coiffed in a slightly old-fashioned way. She smiled. “Madison, what a surprise. How are you?”

I shrugged and forced something that was supposed to resemble cheer on my face. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

“I understand,” Adam’s mom said, her smile fading. “He’s in his room.”

I took the stairs up. A large, bright yellow YIELD sign hung on Adam’s door. I knocked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Madison.”

A chair creaked. Adam came to the door wearing jeans, a hoodie, and a scowl. His eyes were still puffy and darkly ringed. “Were you at school today?”

“Took a mental-health day.” I lowered my voice. “I have to talk to you about something, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing it over the phone.”

Adam opened the door wider and stepped back, allowing me in. On the floor, along with the weights, was a pile of SAT-prep manuals. I sat down on the bed. “Courtney told me about you and her, and that you were planning on breaking up with Lucy. Do the Cunninghams know?”

Adam’s eyes widened with astonishment. Then he hung his head. “Yeah. I didn’t want to tell them, but I had to.”

“Then she could have snapped. She could have run away or … I mean, we really don’t know what she’d do.”

“You really believe that, Mads?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible. No one can absolutely know.”

Adam turned toward his computer screen. “I can’t say for certain that she isn’t capable of doing something to herself. But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do it because of me.” He paused and moved the cursor. “You know, I wasn’t really her boyfriend, Mads. I was just another trophy. Another achievement in the personal résumé she kept in her head. Sometimes I think she had to have me mostly because she couldn’t deal with the idea of me being anyone else’s boyfriend.”

I knew Lucy well enough to know that could have been true. “On TV this morning Dr. Cunningham sounded like he thought she’d been kidnapped.”

Adam winced. “Maybe because it’s better than the alternative, you know? It’s been what? Four days? Four days without her medications? Without any money? Four days and no one’s seen any sign of her? You really have to hope she’s with someone somewhere, because if she isn’t …” Adam didn’t finish the sentence. He just shook his head.

“But who could she be with?” I asked.

Adam didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

On my way home, I pulled up to the gate at the entrance to Premium Point and waved inside to the guard. He raised a finger, as if motioning me to wait, then slid the window open and held something out. “Someone left this for you.”

It was a plain white paper napkin, folded over until it was the size of a Post-it. Madison Archer was written on it in thick, smudged pencil. I unfolded it.

You and your friends are in danger

I can tell you more, but first I

have to know that I can trust you.

My whole body grew tense and my stomach started to knot. “Where did you get this?”

“It was wedged into the doorframe when I came on duty.” The guard narrowed one eye quizzically. “You okay, Miss Archer?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Back in my room I read it again. First I have to know that I can trust you . What did that mean? That I wasn’t to tell the police? But how would the writer know if I did or didn’t? How did I even know if this was real and not some kind of a joke?

I was pondering these questions when the garage door opened. Mom was home.

Half an hour later, Detective Payne of the Soundview Police Department was sitting at our kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. The detective was a thin man with a blond moustache. The note lay open on the kitchen table.