Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,17

have to do is read it.”

“But . . . why doesn’t she just read it, or you?”

“She said it needs to be you. It’s what Connor would have wanted.”

“How does she know what Connor would’ve wanted?” I know what he’d want. He’d want to give his own goddamned speech. He’d want to be alive.

“She said it has to be you.”

Dad takes a plate and nudges the eggs onto it, then he stares down at the pile of yellow mush. He’s thinking about all the eggs Connor used to eat. He’s thinking about carrying a plate over to the table and setting it down in front of his other son, 5 1

Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

the one whose head will be forever resting against a satin pillow. Lavender, I bet. Or maybe they chose blue, blue for their baby boy.

“Okay,” I say, because I can’t tell him no, even though I don’t think I should do it.

Connor worked his ass off for the honor of giving the graduation speech. I have a straight-C average and a piss-poor attitude when it comes to school. He got straight A’s—in honor classes. I don’t deserve to stand up there and speak his words.

I don’t want to eat the eggs. They look curdled now, like they’ve gone sour just like my stomach has. And I don’t want to give the speech. Einstein should come down from the spirit world and shove a graphing calculator into a stone. Whoever pulls it out is worthy to give Connor’s speech. But it wouldn’t be me. Same DNA or not, Connor was and will always be better than me.

5 2

Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

’m sitting on the stage with the principal, vice principal, and the school board members. They’re wearing black robes with various colored ropes draped around their necks. Before me is a sea of green robes and caps dotted with eager faces. I’d watched them file in through the gymnasium doors. Some looked nervous. Others were flashing smiles at their parents or their friends. A few students, fellow members of the basketball team Connor led to State, looked up at the black scoreboard like it was a symbol of Connor’s passing. Like the buzzers and the referees’ whistles and the screaming coaches had all been silenced forever, because two weeks ago, Connor had been silenced and now nothing would ever be the same.

I’m not shrouded in the uniform of graduation. I’m wearing black dress slacks and a white button-down shirt. I was wearing a thin black tie about fifteen minutes ago, but I swear it was constricting my throat like a damn snake, so I took it off and chucked it behind the makeshift stage.

I hear a deep, rattling cough and know immediately that 5 3

Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

our neighbor, an aircraft worker forced to retire early because of emphysema, is in the audience. A few days before Connor died, Connor came up to me while I was taking the garbage out, and we’d had a conversation about him. Connor asked me if I’d seen Dick Barber lately. I did what I always do when I hear our neighbor’s name: I laughed. Then he asked me if Dick had wished me good luck at the state meet because he thought I was Connor.

“He did,” I answered, causing Connor to grimace even though he already knew what I’d done. He had to, or he wouldn’t be asking me.

“So that’s why he called Dad and asked if I was okay.” He shook his head. “You know you don’t have to flip off every person who accidentally calls you by my name.”

I told him I did. I absolutely did. But I didn’t tell him that while gesturing “fuck you” was my standard response, there was a part of me that meant it as a thank-you because it felt like a compliment. If somebody wished me good luck at the meet or told me what a good job I’d done at the forensic tournament, or if someone simply waved and smiled because they thought I was Connor, it made me feel good. Made me feel like shit too, because I’m not Connor, but just knowing that somebody thought I could be . . . it felt good. But I didn’t tell him that. I wish I had.

There is silence, real silence. There are hundreds of people surrounding me. Hundreds of people breathing