August 25

Dear Evan,

I’m sorry. I should have stopped you. Your life is worth way more than $20. Miss Esperanza said I should write you a letter. That it might help me. Not sure if this is helping. 

This is weird. And yeah, I love you. I miss you. And I’m really, really, really sorry. 

More to come.

August 27

So...I have a secret. But maybe you know? Can you see me from wherever you are? Well, anyway, after I know mom and dad are asleep, I sneak into your room and spend most of the night there. It’s been a month so far and I haven’t been caught. The automatic coffee machine in the kitchen doubles as my alarm clock. I know you hated it because the bean grinding woke you up too early, but for me it’s perfect. It gets going at 6:00 am everyday (yes even earlier!). This gives me just enough time to clean up any evidence, tip-toe back to my room and slip into my bed before Mom and Dad even opened their eyes. 

I worry about mom finding out. I think Dad would just shrug it off, although he and I both know your room is unofficially off-limits. Mom never came out and said so, but just like no one sits at your spot at the dinner table, your room is expected to be exactly as you left it. Except much cleaner and more organized. Sorry, but its true. And, you know how she is.

If anyone knew they would probably think it’s creepy that I sleep in my dead brother’s bed. But they have no idea what a horrible sister I am. They have no idea that you were the best brother in the world. And the best son. And yeah, mom does like you better. I know you always said that wasn’t true but c’mon. Especially now. Now it’s all crystal clear. You are better than me, better than I could ever be. 

August 31 9:00 PM

I am dreading going back to school tomorrow. You have no idea how much you are missed. Last year, they all didn’t know what to do after Principal Baldwin made an announcement about you and the other guys during homeroom and asked for a moment of silence. I mean that was so thoughtful, of course, but everyone was so weird after that. They avoided me, mostly. I did catch them staring at me though, when they thought I didn’t notice. And nothing is worse than those sad, pitiful stares. The only person that said anything to me that morning was Brad. He is the nicest. Tom didn’t even come up to me. Not surprising now TBH but at the time I was kind of shocked.

But I have a plan for tomorrow. I bought sunglasses at the John Jay Burns flea market last weekend which I plan to wear EVERY DAY. They are vintage. From the 60’s. Big and round.

And that was all Brad’s fault. The purchase, I mean. I saw him there, at the flea market. He was with his older brother and his mom. I was in the Reminiscence booth. You know the one with the retro stuff where you bought that old Yankees baseball cap. I didn’t want to talk to anyone so when I saw Brad, I grabbed these big sunglasses and hid behind a rack of vintage yellow dresses.

The lady whose booth I was in annoyingly called me out just as Brad was going by…Miss! She kept saying, quite loudly BTW. Miss! Miss! Are you going to pay for those?

Brad shot her a look like c’mon lady when heard her screechy voice and I think he saw me. His eyes were all squinty in my direction. I ducked behind a vintage dresser, which was, oddly, also yellow.

And the lady would not stop: Miss! Miss! She sounded like a crow.

I thought Brad recognized me but then his brother grabbed him and pulled him across the way to the vinyl records guy.

Miss, can I help you, she screeched again. The woman came up behind me and stood over me like I was a criminal or something

How much for the damn glasses? I whispered.

I gave her the $20 and thought, like yes—glasses are worth $20. That is the right thing to pay $20 for.

Walking home with the sunglasses on, I saw Starlene and they didn’t recognize me. (And yeah Steve and Arlene are still together) Either that or they didn’t see me because they were all lovey-dovey, all over each other.

When I got home and saw myself in that entryway mirror where you always checked yourself before you headed out to see Sarah, I could see that the glasses really didn’t work.

I was clearly still me. Even in the big old glasses. I got moms clunky sewing scissors and went for it. I saw a video where you can twist your hair up into a ponytail straight up over your head and then with a couple of snip snips, you get a choppy sort of layered look. I tried that. What a mess.

I wound up cutting my hair way short. And I mean way, way, way short. I guess you might say it was a funky sort of electrified pixie look. You would die if you could see it. That is, I mean if you can’t see it. If I was just a foot taller, kids at school might mistake me for you, but with a bad haircut. I think it’s a good disguise. At least I don’t have to do eye contact and hopefully avoid all the “awkward”. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

September 1

Today is the day. I just don’t know if I can do it Evan. I hate it here. I hate everything. I really do wish we could trade places. You gave the school hope and spirit and excitement. I got nothing. Everyday I wake up and I think: this can’t be real. I’m living a nightmare. When will I wake up?

September 9

Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to this. But you know how hectic BTS can be. In the before times, I loved and hated it. I mean you know I love to get all the new notebooks and pens…new sneakers and jeans. But BTS shopping was flat this year for obvious reasons. Mom was not interested so I went by myself just to do something.

Plus, all the other stuff that always sucked. Readjusting to the social order after summer vacation…at first, everyone is all friendly and nice. False promise, really, because after the first week the cold settles in and it's back to the Lord of the Mean Girls. The popular girls are still the popular girls, the jerks are even bigger jerks, and the teachers pretend everything is great. And, yep, Sarah is still the queen bee. It’s even worse now ‘cause there is this air of intrigue around her. Everyone knows you guys broke up before the accident and there are all kinds of stories around that. Stories you don’t want to know about.

And guess what: I. Am. Still. A. Freak. And yes—I am. (I can just hear you disagreeing with me) It’s even worse now. I guess there is also some intrigue around me, but not because they know I am responsible for your demise (And—yes I am) but because just like last year, they don’t know what to do when faced with me.

September 19

It happened. I got caught yesterday morning. I was making your bed—aka hiding the evidence—and unbeknownst to me, Mom was up early, before the coffee machine.

“What are you doing?” she said behind me making me jump.

I told her I wanted to make your room nice.

I keep it very nice, she huffed and jumped in to take over. I wish Mom didn’t run the house like she ran the Waldorf housekeeping department. And BTW it’s gotten way worse. She even folds the top of the toilet paper into triangles now and freaks out if anyone rotates the roll so the toilet paper rolls out under instead of over.

When Mom’s eyes landed on a half-eaten bag of chips, my pajamas, and my phone on the floor beside the bed. She looked at me like I was even more disappointing to her than previously disclosed. And so… the interrogation began: How long had I been sleeping there? Didn’t I have any respect? Did I even wash the sheets? How could I do this without telling her? And on and on.

She didn’t want any answers, really. So I just let her vent and sort of tuned her out. But then her tears started and I could feel them coming up inside me as well. I picked up all the remnants of my mess and bolted out of the room.

I know I will go back, just not sure when. It’s like I need to be there…I need to remember. Like this morning, waking in up in my own room, I forgot. I woke up with a bubbly feeling in my belly, like something amazing was about to happen. I’d had a dream where we were hanging out. We were wrestling in the basement. And then we were laughing and you threw me over your shoulder and spun me around. I laughed so hard I woke up giggling. Giggling. I am the worst sister on the planet.

SEPTEMBER 15

I rummaged through your drawers today after school. Mom was out food shopping and Dad was at an AA meeting. OMG right—Dad stopped drinking. I think he really is serious this time. And I think it is because you are not here anymore. The drunk-driving thing really hit him hard as I’m sure you can imagine. I’ll keep you posted on that front, but fingers crossed. Although I have thought, what if Dad died instead of you. It’s a horrible thought I know, but I think that would have been better all around.

So anyway, I was looking through your draws for a pen or something and then I found your iPad. I had wanted one so badly when they came out, and now it seems I have one. I plugged it in and let it charge up. There was no password needed, so I paged through your Insta and photos. Pictures of you with the guys from Cherry Street, and farther back with Sara, and then with Todd.

I opened up your email app and went through your unsent drafts. It wasn’t like I wanted to snoop and actually I didn’t want to but I also could not stop myself. It’s like I’m constantly looking for some kind of message from you or a hint that you see me and you can see what is happening here. So I apologize for snooping but I am glad I did. I found that email you wrote to me but never sent. Do you remember it? You wrote:

Hey Jana-Banana!

Check out this girl from Jersey. She kicks ass. Maybe you could to?

💪🏼 E

I clicked on the highlighted “girl from Jersey” link and it took me to an article about this high school girl from Montclair who made second place in the state wrestling finals last year. She was the only girl in the whole Jersey state tournament.

Why didn’t you send it? I mean, if you went to the trouble of writing it, why not just hit send? Maybe at that moment mom called you to dinner, or you got a text from Sara. The date on the draft was only two months before the accident.

Or maybe you realized it was a dumb idea. There had never been a girl on the wrestling team at our school. And certainly, there was not a girls’ wrestling team. No one ever tried to start one. And let’s face it, even though I had wrestled with you and the guys in the basement, was good enough to try out for the team?

I remember your hassle-to-fun ratio that you applied to many decisions you made. Like if the hassle was too high and outweighed the fun of doing something, you would not do it. You always said that skiing was a great example. Going skiing meant you had to drive to the mountains (through New York City traffic), pile on all this gear, wear layers and still freeze your butt off on the lift. And after all that, you ski down the mountain in a fraction of the time you spent prepping for said activity. Hassle to fun ratio was too high, you always said.

But that was your equation. What was mine? Did I even care about having fun anymore? No, there was something else I was looking for, and it was not a good time.

I ran to your closet and pulled out all your wrestling gear and laid it all out on the floor as if I were styling an outfit. Wrestling helmet at the top, near the head of the bed, and your knee pads and then Nike wrestling boots lined up with the foot of the bed. I pulled out your singlet, number 13, which mom had washed and pressed and folded neatly in your dresser drawer. It smelled like lavender. I spread that out it between the helmet and the knee pads. I sat on the singlet, leaned back and rested my head on the helmet, as if it were a pillow.

I fell asleep there, on top of your gear. And it was a good solid sleep. When I woke up the next day, the room seemed brighter. I wasn’t in denial I knew you were dead. But I had a plan, a mission. Something you will be proud of, Evan. I promise.