Gretchen McNeil - 3:59

Nick: I know that’s no excuse.

Nick: I don’t know what else to say.

Josie had ignored them all. She didn’t want to talk to either of them. Especially not Nick. She didn’t want to hear him beg for forgiveness. Or worse, maybe he wouldn’t. Josie recalled the conversation they had after school. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Maybe this had been his way of breaking up with her?

“Josephine?” her mom repeated. Her voice was louder, and Josie could clearly hear her footsteps ascending from the basement.

She should have stayed in the car.

“Josephine!” Her mom stood in the doorway that led to the basement lab, still in her white coat, with the top half of her dark brown hair twirled up on the top of her head and secured with two ballpoint pens.

“Is everything okay?”

Josie opened her mouth to say something, but the words froze on her tongue.

“What?” her mom said.

Josie flinched. She wanted to tell her mom the truth—about Nick and Madison, about her job, and about the train. She wanted a squishy hug, to feel her mom’s long fingers comb through Josie’s hair and for her mom to tell her that everything was going to be okay. But there had been such a strain between them the last few months, a divide that neither of them seemed able to cross, and the last thing Josie needed at that moment was to be rejected by her own mother.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Josie leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt suddenly dizzy; the cramped quarters of the hallway spun around her. She just wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and pray that when she woke up, she’d discover that she’d gunned the engine on her car and outrun the oncoming train.

Maybe then, none of this would have happened.

“Where’s the mirror?” her mom asked abruptly.

Right. The real reason her mom was even talking to her. “I left it in the garage.”

“Fine, fine,” she muttered more to herself than to Josie. “I’ll move it downstairs to the lab.” Then she cleared her throat and turned suddenly toward her bedroom door. “I have to go out tonight.”

Josie shook herself. “Oh.” Great. Was her mom dating now?

“Just back to the lab,” she said, as if reading Josie’s mind. “Running an experiment. Need to check in. You’ll be okay here?”

Josie shrugged. “Sure.”

“Good.” Her mom paused as if she was going to add something, then shook her head again in that odd, distracted way. “Get some rest, Josephine. You look tired.”

2:37 A.M.

Time abandoned her.

Josie had been lying on her bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling for what felt like days, yet the alarm clock on her nightstand mocked her. It had only been four hours.

Stupid clock.

Her mom said she looked tired, but that was an understatement. She was exhausted, plain and simple. Hours of crying would do that. Her temples throbbed from the headache that ravaged the very depths of her brain, and her raw, bloodshot eyes ached beneath swollen lids. Her limbs were heavy, a mix of fatigue and despair, and her entire existence felt futile.

Her body and mind were completely worn down, yet she couldn’t sleep. Not for half a second had she slipped into blissful unconsciousness. She’d been aware of every moment that passed, even the sound of her mom quietly opening the front door when she got home, and dragging something heavy down the hall and into the basement. The stupid mirror, no doubt. Josie had been wide awake for all of it.

She’d tried to fall asleep, of course, for hours. All her usual tricks: counting sheep, pretending she was on a tropical island with Nick—she even looked for comfort in her favorite childhood stuffed animal, Mr. Fugly Bear. Whenever there was a thunder-and-lightning storm, her dad would bring her Mr. Fugly Bear (so named because he was missing an ear and the “thumb” off his right paw due to a washing-machine incident), who was the bravest, most rugged bear in town and would protect her from any and all danger. He’d prop Mr. Fugly Bear up against Josie’s pillow, facing the window in case any monsters tried to crawl in that way.

Whether or not Mr. Fugly Bear could protect Josie from a trampled heart was never put to the test. He always sat on one of her bookshelves, but suddenly he was gone. There was another teddy bear on the shelf that looked vaguely familiar, but no Mr. Fugly. She must have moved him when cleaning up her room, accidentally shoved him to the back of a shelf or something.

Even he knew when to jump off a sinking ship, apparently.

And so she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t erase the last view of Nick from her mind: shirtless, standing in the middle of the street in front of Madison’s house.

Eyes open or closed, she couldn’t get that image out of her mind. And it stayed with her, mocking her pain, it seemed, until sleep finally overtook her.

3:59 A.M.

The car shudders in protest as she steps on the accelerator.

But only for an instant. The BMW’s precision engine kicks in immediately and she relaxes into the leather seat as the speedometer jumps five miles per hour.

She strokes the calfskin-wrapped steering wheel. “I love you,” she says out loud. “Just so you know.”

She glances at the digital clock on the dashboard. Two minutes to four. She should only be a few minutes late, as long as she doesn’t get caught at the train tracks.

Of course it’s her own fault she’s running late, but whatever. Totally worth it to watch Nick at track practice after school.

She speeds around a corner, tapping the brakes as lightly as possible so as not to lose momentum, and veers onto Leeland Road. Up ahead, she can hear the peal of bells even before she sees the flashing lights at the bend in the road. Train coming.

There’s only a split second to decide, but it’s a no-brainer. She slams on the accelerator. The engine revs and the car careens forward as the arm of the railroad crossing descends. She holds her breath in anticipation and she grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ache. She can feel the tension in her fingers, the strain of her muscles as she wills the car onward. Will I make it? Too close to call. Her heart races and her breath comes in short gasps; the anticipation is palpable. Will she die in a glorious explosion as the train hits her car at full speed? She smiles. At least then all her problems would vanish.

The car shoots under the descending arm with inches to spare. For an instant she’s blinded by the lights of the speeding train, then her car flies down the far side of Leeland Road.

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed that she’s still alive.

Josie sat bolt upright.

Her heart raced, and she was sweating so badly her light cotton pajamas clung to her damp flesh like plastic wrap.

Darkness surrounded her. She was in her bedroom. In bed. Safe. It was just a dream.

Was it? Josie held her hands up in front of her face. Her fingers curled inward, stiff and sore, as if they’d held something in a death grip.

Like a steering wheel.

1:15 P.M.

SHE NEVER FELL BACK TO SLEEP. AFTER THE nightmare, a mix of insomnia and despair weighed on her, and left her sobbing in her bed late into the morning. So it was some kind of miracle that she managed to get herself to AP Physics just as the late bell rang.

She’d wanted to stay in bed, lock her bedroom door, pull the covers over her head, and stay there until . . . forever. But missing physics would have put their project—and their grade—in jeopardy, and Josie couldn’t do that to Penelope, especially since the Penrose experiment had been entirely her idea. Besides, she doubted the news of Madison and Nick’s affair would have gotten around yet, so at least she’d be spared that indignity. Holding on to that one gleaming ray of good news in an otherwise wretched day, Josie had hauled her ass into the shower and made a halfhearted attempt to look as if her world hadn’t collapsed around her.