I’m monstrous and ugly—part tree, part girl, the color of dirt and bark. Leaves cover my face. I blend in with the woods, like a fallen tree or a stump, a branch torn off by a storm. I stand by the trees by my house, watching Ian and Eve walk from her house to mine. I hear Eve describing the games that we played in the den, how we made collages with scented markers and glitter.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, drawing her close.
“Because you liked her,” she says. “Didn’t you?”
I wait to hear what he says. I remember how I used to blush when he walked into class, how he smiled and dropped his head when he took the desk next to mine.
“Only a little,” he says. “I gave up quick. She was hard to get to know. I couldn’t have a conversation with her.”
“Not like with me?”
“No. Not like with you.”
I watch him kiss Eve, and I have never felt more dead than I do now. I remember how I liked his voice, and how his eyes always seemed to be dilated. I didn’t have room for him. I cast out Eve as well because she didn’t keep up with her swimming. I was all about practice and regionals, competitions and grades. The week before I died my mother signed me up for an SAT prep course. I was dead when I was alive, and I didn’t even know it.