Six Months Later by Natalie D. Richards Read Free Book Online Page B

one. You don’t have to tell me what it is. Just see it in your mind.”
    “Okay.” I try to stay relaxed. It’s hard because I’m excited. This could help. I mean, it’s not a guarantee, but it could happen.
    “Home,” she says.
    Click. I have a picture of our backyard, the picnic table with peeling paint, and a plastic pitcher of sun tea sitting in the middle.
    “Fun.”
    I see Maggie and I posing with our tongues out on prom night.
    “School.”
    A row of lockers, posters of varsity teams stretching above them.
    “Love.”
    A boy looking up from a book. Dark hair and a killer smile.
    Adam.
    I jerk my head up, eyes flying open. Dr. Kirkpatrick is writing in her book. Her face is serene. “Are you all right, Chloe?”
    “I have no idea.”
    ***
    Maggie’s house is probably not the best idea. But where else can I go? My parents are busy grieving the mental decline of their briefly perfect daughter. I could call my boyfriend, except that I barely know him. And since I’m associating the word love with an entirely different guy, I’m pretty sure I’m not as close to my boyfriend as I should be.
    I ring the doorbell and plunge my hands back into the pockets of my coat. Footsteps echo in the entry inside just before Mrs. Campbell’s face shows in the sidelight window. She looks surprised and delighted in equal parts.
    “Chloe,” she says as she swings the door wide. She squeezes me in a hug that smells like the bakery she owns. “It’s been so long. Come on in, honey.”
    I swallow hard. “That’s okay. I know it’s kind of late. Is Maggie home?”
    “Of course, sweetie. Come in out of the cold.” I step inside and stand on the rug while she heads for the stairs. She seems to think better of it, stalling halfway to the steps and tilting her head at me. “Why don’t you just go on up?”
    “I’m not sure—”
    Mrs. Campbell ghosts a hand over her reddish hair and smiles at me. “You know, whatever this is, it’s long past time for you two to work it out. Go on, Chloe.”
    I nod and take the stairs slowly while Maggie’s mom disappears into the kitchen. Even with her words bolstering me, I feel like I’m climbing my own gallows.
    I should have waited another day. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so wound up by my memory of Adam. But why? Why would I picture him with love? I mean, just how messed up am I?
    I turn left at the top of the stairs and see the collection of bumper stickers on Maggie’s door. Too late for second-guessing now.
    She tells me to come in before I even knock. There’s a squeaky board right outside her door so she always knows when someone’s close. We used to call it the parental alert system.
    I open the door and stand there, looking over Maggie’s pillow-strewn bed and the posters of obscure punk bands hung above it. Her enormous white dresser looks as buried as it always does, lost under a sea of silk scarves and discarded earrings. She’s flopped sideways across the bed with her laptop open in front of her.
    She looks up, and the shock of me being the visitor registers quickly in her face. “Why are you h-here?”
    I shrug. “You didn’t return my call.”
    “That usually means someone d-doesn’t want to t-t-talk to you.”
    I frown and look at my feet. She’s stuttering. She doesn’t stutter this much. Not with me. I bite my lip, feeling bruised all over.
    Maggie shifts on the bed, sitting up. “I think you s-said plenty the last t-time we talked.”
    I take a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know what came over me then,” I say, which is totally true. “But I want to talk to you, Mags. I miss you.”
    “No, you d-don’t,” she says. “What do you really want, Chloe, b-because I’m not going to be your p-pet project?”
    I can’t believe this. I can’t process that this cold, mean girl is Maggie. “I don’t…I don’t know what you mean.”
    She laughs then. It’s usually one of the friendliest sounds on earth. Today it burns like