Part 2 (1/2)

I come into the apartment fast as I can, zooming through the kitchen without glancing at Dad, who says hi, looking up at me from his work on the kitchen table.

I lock myself in my room. Collapse on the bed. My eyes are sharp and burning. Without tears.

s.l.u.t.

Killer.

Zach is dead.

Through the wall I can hear the thud thud thud of the stupid girl next door's music. There's five of them in there. College students, but the loud-music one never seems to go to cla.s.ses. Never seems to do anything but stay in the apartment and deafen us.

I wish she was dead and Zach was alive.

I hate music. It hurts my ears, my brain. Even the membranes in my nose. Any music. All music. I can't distinguish between hip-hop and hillbilly ramblings, between symphonies and traffic noise. All of it hurts.

The best thing about going up to the Greats is that there is no music there. No noises to make me grind my teeth. Only wind through trees. Foxes burrowing. Deer running. Ice cracking. Mockingbirds singing their never-repeated three-note sequences, each note clear as rainwater. Wood thrushes trilling.

Beautiful sounds.

Zach loved music. He couldn't understand my hate.

Zach is dead.

I wish I had my dad's noise-reduction headphones. He wears them on planes. I like to sneak them from his room, put them on, plugged into nothing, dulling the thud through the walls. If I could, I'd wear them all the time, but I can't afford a set of my own. I'll ask for my birthday or Christmas or something. Not that my parents have much money. The only reason Dad has the headphones is because he had to review them for a magazine and never gave them back.

He gets many things that way.

Someone knocks at the door. Dad probably. Mom's coat wasn't hanging by the door.

”Micah,” Dad calls. ”Micah! Are you alright?”

I have no idea how to answer him.

Zach is dead.

AFTER.

The Greats are keener than ever for me to come up to the farm. Dad says they're worried. They think I need fresh air. They want me to be able to run free. I'm wis.h.i.+ng Mom and Dad didn't know about Zach.

Ever since Zach went missing the Greats have been calling. This, despite them not even having a phone. They have to ride all the way to the gas station and call from there. Grandmother hates phones. She says they make her ears itch.

It used to be she would only talk to Dad and keep it as short as possible. Barking calls, Dad said. Now she only wants to talk to me.

”Micah?” she says loudly. Then she starts telling me what I should do. Go upstate and spend time with my family. I don't point out that I'm already with my family. Mom and Dad are right here.

She says coming upstate, staying on the farm, running in the forest is the best cure for a broken heart.

I tell her I don't have a broken heart. It's still beating, the blood still moves around my body; it only aches when I remember to breathe.

Grandmother isn't listening. ”A broken heart can make you pine away,” she says. ”Till there's hardly anything left to bury.”

I swallow. Zach will be buried. I can't imagine him in a box, six feet under.

”You'll be much happier up here, Micah,” she said. ”The forest is good for you.” I go into my room with the phone against my ear and shut the door.

”I've got Central Park,” I say, holding the phone lightly, too tightly. I'm willing it to fly out of my hands. Central Park is where Zach and me truly met. It's our place.

”Too tame for you, my love.”

I hate it when she calls me that. It doesn't suit her tongue. My grandmother is not very loving. She orders, she doesn't cajole. Besides, Zach was not at all tame. Neither is Central Park.

”There's so much more for you to learn up here. We miss you, Micah.”

I didn't say anything. I never miss them. I miss Zach.

”I wish your uncle Hilliard was still with us. He'd talk sense into you.”

The Hilliard I remember was taciturn and gruff. He didn't spend time talking sense into anyone.

”Your aunt wants to talk to you now,” she says. I listen to the phone going scratchy. m.u.f.fled voices. I put my nose to Zach's sweater, breathe him in. His scent is fading.

”Micah?” Great-Aunt Dorothy shouts at the phone. ”That you?”

”Yes.”

”We want you to come up. Don't have to stay. Just a week or two. Get away from all the trouble.”

”I'm not in any trouble,” I say, kicking my desk. The metal clangs.

”Well, I suppose not. But your father thinks you need time away. Death isn't easy. Especially not when you're young.”

I sigh, making sure she can hear it. ”Then why would it be any easier upstate?”

Zach's still dead no matter where I am.

”You know it is, Micah. We're closer to nature up here. Nature fixes everything.” Great-Aunt Dorothy always says that.

Nature also breaks things into a million pieces. Storms destroy, winds erode, and everything rots.

”I have school.”

”You're young-that's not so important. Besides, we can help you study if that's what you want.”

I'm a senior! My whole future is being decided. How will two high school dropouts help me study? They're crazy if they think I'm going to go live with them. How will they help me prepare for college? They call jeans ”dungarees.” They don't know anything.

They talk as if I'm not going to college. They don't think I'm smart enough.

I know I am. My favorite teacher, Yayeko Shoji, says so.

”You're much happier up here, Micah.”