My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,22

off my pajamas and stood, naked and illuminated, in front of my full-length mirror. The person staring back was not me. She was a near-perfect copy, right down to the tiny mole on my left hip bone and the thin scar on my left hand that I never could remember getting.

But her skin was like tracing paper, and the light made her transparent.

And on the inside, she was all wrong.

• • •

Wednesday afternoon, Max and Courtney came by my house. It was quiet, and I was able to hear everything that was said downstairs.

“Hey, guys, come on in,” Dad said.

“Is Lucy here? She’s been MIA all week,” Max said, sounding worried.

“And she hasn’t been answering her phone,” Courtney added.

“She’s been home sick,” Dad replied, and then lowered his voice an ineffective smidge. “Between us, though, I think there might be something else going on. Do either of you know if anything happened that would make her not want to go to school? Something with Ty or Evan, maybe?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Courtney said.

“Me either,” said Max.

“Hang on—you said all week? She wasn’t in school Monday?” Dad asked.

“Nope,” Max said.

There was a moment where I couldn’t hear anything. Maybe they were talking too low, or maybe they weren’t talking at all. Dad must have been putting the pieces together that I hadn’t been in school the day I came home all messed up. It didn’t matter. What was he going to do, ground me?

“Can we see her?” Courtney asked.

There was a pause, and then Dad said, “Let me check and see if she’s up for having company.”

A few seconds later, there was a knock on my door and Dad came in. “Max and Court are here for you.”

I rolled over in my bed so my back was to him. “No visitors,” I mumbled.

“Honey, they’re worried about you. It might make you feel better to see your friends.”

“No visitors,” I repeated, and covered my face with a pillow, shutting out the light.

Dad stood there for a moment and then left. I didn’t bother listening to whatever excuse he gave my friends.

• • •

If I told my family and my friends the truth, everything would change. They would look at me differently, treat me differently. Of course they would—I was different. But right now I was the only one who knew it. And that was the safest place to be. Because if the world outside me became as unrecognizable as the world inside me had, I honestly wouldn’t know what to do.

On the other hand, if no one knew, they would still be expecting me to be the same old Lucy. But how do you play the role of yourself when “yourself” no longer exists?

• • •

Because I adamantly refused to go see the doctor, my dads assumed there wasn’t anything really wrong with me and made me go back to school after two days.

Thursday morning, I pulled into my usual parking spot to find Max waiting for me, leaning against his car, ankles and arms crossed. He didn’t move as I turned off the engine and got out of the car. He just watched me, his eyes hidden behind his retro, mirrored sunglasses.

“Hey,” I said lifelessly.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you disappeared, Luce. No calls, no texts, not even a Facebook status update to let the world know you were alive. The only reason I knew you were coming back today was because I talked to your dads. What the hell is going on with you?” he said.

“I was sick,” I said.

“You were so sick that you couldn’t even pick up the phone to let one of us know that you wouldn’t be in rehearsal? Since when is that how you treat your friends? We were worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.”

Max sighed and dropped his arms. “Is this about Lisa being back?” His voice was a little softer now.

“No.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, okay?” I began to walk toward the school’s entrance. “Now let’s go, we’re gonna be late.”

• • •

The moment we walked into the drama club homeroom, a hush fell over the room. Time stopped, and I stood there like an animal at the zoo. Like a freak on display.

They can see it, the voice in my head whispered. They can see through your skin. They know.

I had to get out of there.

In slow motion, I twirled back toward the door. All I had to do was