Noah: I saw her. During morning school tryouts, somewhere during laps, honestly my favorite part because there’s no way to embarrass myself, I caught a flash of movement. Brown hair, retro T-shirt under an oversized blue and white flannel, faded jeans, a few meters away from me. Zara. She was probably heading in early to work on a project, because of course she’s an A student, but for a second, it looked like she was walking straight towards me. Which is stupid, I know, but still. Someday, when I’m popular and not some mid fifth wheel in every friend group, when she looks at me for more than a math question, when I’m brave enough to ask her out instead of using group projects as an excuse to talk to her, she’ll meet me after my games, and we’ll go to Starbucks or something. And we can just talk, and for a few minutes it won’t feel like the whole world’s watching me. Like I don’t have to plan every next sentence to make sure Tommy J. laughs, and smile at every dumb, mean joke he makes. Just me and her. Living in the moment. As easy as breathing. But then she was gone, the door swinging behind her, and I ran back into the line, trying to forget about everything, just for a second. Whatever.

Pheobe: I saw her. Just barely. My vision was swimming badly, but I still saw her. Of course she had to be the one there. Like I tried to be positive, but seriously? Her? Now? With my luck, she could’ve taken a picture of me hyperventilating and posted it. Pressure closed in around me, stealing the breath from my lungs, and then the world around me started fading. Safe to say I wasn’t exactly inspired to stay present with her here.

When I could see clearly again, I was sitting down and her hand was squeezed in mine. Yeah. No way. I stood up quickly, ignoring the look she shot me. When I didn’t stop walking, she gave up and called out. ‘‘You sure that’s a good idea? I thought they were getting better.’’ Wow. Skipping the pleasantries. What a shock. I rolled my eyes. ‘‘Because you always know what’s best.’’ It took her a while to respond, but when she did her voice was soft. ‘‘I’m trying to help.’’ I turned, not caring if she saw how red my eyes were. Focused on getting my next sentence across. Brittle. Heartless. ‘‘I don’t need your help.’’ I brushed past her. Sometimes I wonder how she can be so sweet when I still hear her voice four years later. I’d asked ‘‘Do you ever wonder why you’re not good enough?’’ I never told anyone those thoughts. But I was just hoping for a hug. Not the answer I got. ‘‘Guess you’re just not good enough then. Don’t waste time whining.’’ Zara’s a bitch, nothing else.

Zoe: I saw her. Walking into class from the left side just like she does every day. I exhaled before realizing I was holding my breath. It’s comforting, I guess, knowing what’s going to happen in a school full of people. I walk into class first, Zara comes in a few minutes later. She sits next to me. We talk. Well, I talk. It was Monday, and I talked about how on the weekend I
watched Memento for the first time and the new film idea it gave me. ‘‘Cool. Is it dark too or are you going to give it a happy ending?’’ I had to pretend to tie my shoe when she said that so she wouldn’t see my grin. She’s not bubbly like the other girls in our class, she isn’t exactly cool, and I don’t actually know how much she knows about film, but she listens. If she likes you, she gives her undivided attention.

In retrospect, maybe I should’ve talked a little less. Asked her about her weekend, her interests, anything. But I never did. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to drown in all the words I don’t say. The did-you-knows that people brush off or the questions that make them roll their eyes. I just need this one time I can really talk. And Zara is kind enough to give it.

Alex: I saw her. She looked… broken. Like she was eight again and found out Santa didn’t exist. Part of me wanted to give her a bear hug again, tell a crazy story to cheer her up, but I turned around. I’m too tired to be the big brother tonight. Or any other night, for that matter. I’ve got better things to do than listen to Zara blab and nod. Maybe there is a part of me that misses our sleepovers and insane midnight cooking ideas and how we could tell each other anything, but I’m not that person anymore. I have friends from my old college that I like better anyways. I have everything I need. I do. The only thing I’m missing is a nap.

There’s a list of chores to do taped to my bedroom door. ‘For improving discipline’ Mom wrote. I used to be disciplined. I did everything the stupid brochures asked. I sacrificed friendships, trips, any time to myself. And I still got kicked out. Maybe I am lazy. But maybe I’m still burnt out from college. Maybe I just don’t want to go through that again. I pulled the list off my door with my fists clenched and almost asked Zara if she got one too or if they gave her a free pass like always. But I didn’t. She doesn’t deserve this schedule either. Doesn’t make it fair, but still. She doesn’t.

Benji: I didn’t see her. It was a Tuesday morning, and I was driving to school from my part-time job, trying to talk to my mom through the car’s Bluetooth. It was about something stupid, like how much his prescription costs or which song she should play to cheer up Grandpa. I could’ve pulled over and told her. But somehow, I had this shot at getting a perfect attendance award and I just wanted it. I wanted something for me. That I earned. I remember trying to wrap the conversation up and my mom telling me she left a journal in my coat for me. I remember that flash of movement and how I slammed the brakes but still heard the thud. And then I saw, and I couldn’t pretend, couldn’t ignore it like everything else that goes wrong in my life. And I just went numb. Like I was operating on autopilot. Pick up the phone. Dial the number. Explain. Listen to the cops. Nod when they clear you because she was jaywalking. Late for school, they said. Nod again when they suggest therapy, even though there’s no way we can afford that. Take the new journal that somehow fell out of your coat. Feel nothing. Nothing until I got home and actually looked at that stupid journal. Because there was a name on the front. Zara. That was her name. And now I was holding her journal.

I don’t stop reading. I can’t stop reading. And when I finish, I break down. Curled in a ball, sobbing. Nothing pretty about it. Because she never got to tell them. Never got to tell Noah S. that she tries to time her school arrival with the end of soccer tryouts for an excuse to talk to him. Never got to tell Pheobe how much it hurt her when she asked her why she wasn’t good enough. Never got to tell Zoe how much she looks up to her. How scared she is to add her opinions. Never got to tell Alex that she misses her big brother. That she feels like their parents make everything a competition and she’s always the one that has to drop out and get help.

And I didn’t see her.

I didn’t see her even her words are all I hear. I didn’t meet her even though I know we would have been best friends. I didn’t talk to her even though I still need her advice. What would she have told me? To slow down, let others handle things instead of trying to fix everything myself? I’ll never know now. And neither will they. I could tell them, but I already took her life. I can’t take her speech to.

I get up. The oven is beeping and I need to fix something right now. I slam it repeatedly, only amplifying the noise. It sounds like a flatline. Or a voice. I screw my eyes shut and let the tears fall. Let the grief come out. Promise myself that I’m taking the week off.

Maybe I didn’t see her. But I heard her.