Underneath Read Online Free PDF Page B

Shiri,” I say, as levelly as I can, “maybe she’d still be around.”
    Bettie winces, then sighs. “Just try it,” she says. She takes off her cat’s-eye glasses and cleans the lenses, looking tired. Once again, I consider telling her everything. But if they tell me something’s really wrong, or put me on medication … Shiri was on antidepressant medication, and it didn’t help her. And … what if that’s what made her … change? What if they made her feel different? I read an article online about that, how some antidepressants actually make certain people more depressed. What if they try to give me the same medication? What if I—?
    My head is full of my own thoughts, my anxieties. I don’t say anything else.

    In the evening, Spike rings the doorbell, ostensibly to drop off history notes from the days I missed. His eyes are sleepy like he just woke up, and his unruly hair is squashed down under an old beanie that he’d never be caught dead wearing at school. He gives me an awkward hug and hands me a giant baggie full of cookies from his mom.
    We chat about school, and for a few minutes my life feels almost normal again. He lounges on the front porch, the palm trees in the street behind him blowing into graceful arcs in the Santa Ana wind. His hand brushes mine as he passes me a spiral notebook and a messy sheaf of papers in a blue folder.
    For the first time in days, I’m not sad. I’m not crazed. I feel almost okay.
    Then Spike grins like a fool, lopsided and cheesy, and invites me to one of his infamous barbecues at Corona Del Mar on Saturday.
    â€œSaturday? Maybe,” I say, hesitantly. I’m not sure I’m ready for a swim team barbecue even though I’ve been going to Spike’s beach barbecues since we were kids, since way before the swim team. “I might have … you know … family stuff.”
    â€œAren’t we like your second family? Come on—you have to go.” His grin gets even wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “James said he’ll get his brother to bring us some beer. It’ll be awesome.”
    And then, like it’s a simultaneous track on a CD, a discordant harmony behind the lead singer—
    it’ll be awesome all right when those
swim hotties get all —
    â€”drunk girls in bikinis
    a real party for once, come on, come ON
don’t let me down—
    And that’s what I hear. It’s like overhearing something that’s under the surface, whispering into my mind, low and urgent. Under -hearing. Unmistakable.
    I stand in the open doorway in shock, my body frozen with one hand gripping the blue notebook, because this time I know it really happened. I know. And, for a moment, I’m completely caught up in his glee, his excitement, his urgent need for—I don’t know what. Then it’s gone. I sag against the doorframe.
    Meanwhile, my mind is hyperactive, going over and over what I just heard until it all clicks into place. This is what happened before. It happened with my mom at dinner. It happened at the swim meet during my race; when I got home that day, Mom told me that Shiri—
    No, I can’t think about that.
    I want to dismiss it as my imagination, but I can’t. It sounds unbelievable to even consider, but it isn’t just “in my head.”
    I straighten up; strain my ears trying to listen. But I don’t hear anything else.
    I’m not crazy .
    I must have been giving Spike a weird look, because he starts coming at me with his lips parted and tongue wiggling exaggeratedly, like he’s going to French kiss me.
    I raise my eyebrows, take a big step back, and tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. Then I tell myself that if what I heard was really what he was thinking, it’s no big shock. It’s just Spike, through and through. I tell myself that despite that whole business about not letting him down—whatever that