Did she agree with all the other kids that he was nothing more than a creepy weirdo wimp?
Did she think he didn’t know how to have any fun—how to enjoy a little risk?
Well, he’d show her.
He’d get her to smile no matter what.
He continued to rock the car, ignoring its squeak of protest.
But no matter how hard he shook—the smile never came.
His fingers slipped from the sides.
His car got away from him.
Swinging around, swinging upside down, until the rail came loose and dumped him right out.
The fall from one hundred feet went so much quicker than I ever would’ve imagined. And I watched as Satchel tumbled from his seat, arms flailing, legs kicking, head crashing and bumping its way from car to car until it finally smashed straight into the ground, where everything stopped.
Everything but the sound of Mary Angel’s high-pitched scream.
A soundtrack that continued to play long after the projector halted, the computer flipped off, and Satchel stood before me, head caved in on all sides, but worse at the top. His collarbone jutting right out of his skin, right through the big, gaping hole in his blood-soaked white shirt—his clothing battered, clotted with brain matter—just like they’d found him.
His one good eye burning into mine when he said, “So tell me, Riley, is that what you wanted to see?”
20
I had to say something.
He wanted me to say something.
I could tell by the way he’d removed the staples from my mouth and waited for me to speak.
Problem was, I wasn’t sure where to start, so I went for the obvious. “Satchel, I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but you must know, it was an accident.”
He rolled his one good eye, shook his battered head. A mouthful of cracked-up teeth spewing from his lips when he said, “Ya think?”
I pushed my bangs off my face and fought to stay calm, doing my best to get past his gruesome appearance, not to mention his uncalled-for sarcasm.
“What I meant was, it’s unfortunate, yeah, but it’s no excuse to do what you do. It’s no excuse to terrorize people.”
“What? Are you kidding? Did you miss something? I mean, look at me, Riley! I ignored my parents’ warnings, I lied, and look at the result!” He ran his mangled fingers up and down his body like a game show model displaying the prize.
The sight was miles past grisly, truly the stuff that nightmares are made of. But I couldn’t afford to focus on that. I had to use whatever time I had left before he decided to dreamweave a whole new wave of terrors on my behalf. I had to find a way to get through to him.
Not wanting to waste another second, I yelled, “Stuff happens, Satchel! Really horrible, regrettable stuff. And while I’m sorry about what happened to you, and I really, truly am, I also have to be honest and tell you that I’m way more sorry about the way you lived your life before that. I’m sorry that you had no friends. I’m sorry that you didn’t fit in. I’m sorry you never had a single moment of fun. But most of all, I’m sorry for the way your parents made you fear every single thing. I’m sorry they urged you to hide from the world. I’m sorry for all of that—far, far more than the sorry I feel for what happened to you at the fair.”
My words silenced him. Caused him to stand before me, patting the caved-in mess where his hair used to be, oblivious to the small avalanche of flaky, dried blood that trickled down to his feet.
“I get that they loved you, I really, truly do. I get that you meant everything to them, and because of that, they were terrified of losing you. I get that they had your best interests at heart—only wanted to keep you out of danger. But by doing that, they made you a prisoner! Not being able to run, ride a bike, play sports with the other kids at school …” I shook my head, determined to not get too carried away. It was imperative to keep the message clean, clear, free of emotion—no matter how much his parents enraged me. “You had no friends, never experienced a single moment of real and true fun. And though it wasn’t their intention, they turned you into a freak with no life. Heck, they wouldn’t even let you have a pet—‘animals are too dangerous,’ they said—sheesh!” I paused, replaying my words and relating them to my own life.
Practically all I’d done since I’d died was complain about how short my life had been. Complained about what a bum deal I’d gotten when I found myself dead at twelve.
Until I met Satchel, it never even occurred to me to celebrate just how much living I’d done in such a short amount of time.
I’d had friends—lots and lots of friends.
I’d played sports—even though I wasn’t very good.