Six by Mark Alpert Read Free Book Online

carefully. “You were friends with him, weren’t you? Now that I think of it, I remember seeing you talking with him by the lockers every morning before first period.”
    â€œOh yeah, we go way back. But, you know, we haven’t talked in a while.”
    She nods again, understanding. She knows how people avoid the dying. The same thing has probably happened to her. “Well, I can’t tell you much about Ryan because I don’t know him too well. When he’s not playing football he’s usually hanging out with the other jocks. And he spends a lot of time with this cheerleader he’s dating.”
    â€œIs it Brittany Taylor?” I blurt it out before I can stop myself.
    â€œNo, it’s that idiot Donna Simone. Brittany’s not at Yorktown anymore. She dropped out last fall.”
    My stomach lurches. “Dropped out?”
    â€œYeah, it was a big deal when it happened. She just didn’t show up at school one morning. Her parents didn’t know where she went, so they called the police, and then the cops interviewed her friends. They didn’t find her until two weeks later. She was in New York City, living in a crappy basement with some other runaways.”
    This is a total surprise. It’s so unexpected that it seems absurd. I know this kind of thing happens all the time—kids get into fights with their parents, drop out of school, run away from home—but I can’t imagine it happening to Brittany. “So what did the cops do? Did they bring her home?”
    â€œThat’s what I heard, but a month later she ran away again. According to the rumors, she’s back in the city now, back with the other street kids, and her parents have basically given up on her. Some people say she was having problems at school, bad grades, whatever. But I think her real problem was at home, you know?”
    I feel dizzy. I thought Brittany was still a cheerleader. I imagined her that way in my VR program because that’s how I saw her: always happy and full of spirit. She used to practice her cheerleading routines in her backyard, working on her cartwheels and flips until it was too dark to see. Her house was on the other side of town, almost a mile from ours, but when she finished practicing she’d run all the way down Greenwood Street so she could show me the latest stunt she’d mastered. She’d dash into our living room and do a flip or a handstand while I watched from my wheelchair. Sometimes she’d fall to the floor with a thump and Dad would come running to see if I was all right and he’d find Brittany sprawled on the carpet, laughing like crazy. I can’t picture this girl as a runaway. It’s unthinkable. It’s absurd.
    I’m so lost in my thoughts I forget about Shannon. Then I feel her hand on my right arm, gently gripping me above the elbow. She looks me in the eye. “Was Brittany your girlfriend?”
    I shake my head. “No. Not really.”
    â€œNot really?” Shannon squeezes my arm. It’s strange—I feel close to this girl even though we’ve been talking for less than fifteen minutes. But time moves faster when you’re dying. We both know our opportunities are diminishing. If we don’t do something now, we’ll never do it. That’s why I want to tell her about Brittany. I want to tell her everything.
    But before I can say a word, the door bursts open. Three people stumble into the room, two of them wearing Army uniforms. The two soldiers are grappling with the third person, a wiry, middle-aged woman with graying hair and red-rimmed eyes. It’s Anne Armstrong. My mother.
    â€œ No ! ” she screams. “ You can’t do it ! ”
    â€œMrs. Armstrong!” one of the soldiers shouts. “Please—”
    â€œ You can’t take him ! ”
    With a savage twist, she tears herself from the soldier’s grasp and lunges across the room. Her face is