Her Suicide Note

Chapter Three

Bianca
The first time I met Lisa was the first time she got out of the "Boys Have Cooties" phase and started liking them. Our third grade assigned seats were right next to each other and we became friends instantly. She had a crush on Michael MacKenzie, a boy who had just moved here from England and who was seated across the room. He was taller than the entire third grade class and was older than Lisa by a couple of months, two things that she had still looked for in guys before she died.
She did everything she could to catch his attention: she dressed more girly-she was always wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt-and she made him play with us at recess though she gave him ten minutes in the beginning to play with the guys. She also flirted non-stop with him at lunch.
He seemed more than happy to be around us, but I came to the realization early that he wasn't hanging with us because he liked Lisa. He made it a hobby to pick me up and spin me around whenever he could or tease me about how short I was, and at lunchtime he made an effort to include me in his conversation with Lisa. I shied away from him, though, one, because that was Lisa's guy and two, I had always been scared of boys. They were just too rough.
My favorite article of clothing back in elementary school was a pair of overalls and I thought that would sway his emotions about me, but I was wrong.
"I'm going to ask Michael to be my boyfriend," Lisa had told me at the beginning of recess one day when Michael was still playing soccer out in the field.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said before I could stop myself. I flushed when Lisa peered down at me in suspicion. I ducked my head behind my library book, not able to meet her gaze any longer.
"Why?" Lisa questions. "I like him, and I know he likes me."
"Don't you think you should wait for him to ask you out?" I ask instead. There was no way I was telling her the truth and bursting her love bubble.
I could see she was taking what I asked into consideration. "That would be better," she admitted. "But he's a guy, not to mention a young one, he'll never get the hint if he hasn't already."
I quieted as I peeked around her and saw Michael running up to us, his face flushed and happy. Lisa followed my line of sight and practically vibrated with joy.
"Hey, Michael," she gushed.
"Hey, Lisa," he replied before turning towards me, his smile even bigger than before and said in a teasing manner, "Smith."
"MacKenzie," I countered. We had always called each other by our last name. We weren't sure why, it just felt right.
I felt guilty as I thought that. Why couldn't they have a special last name basis thing?
"Hey, Michael, I have to ask you something," Lisa stated.
I hid behind my book again, praying Lisa would chicken out, but that wouldn't happen and I knew it. We had only been friends for seven months, but I already knew the depth of her confidence and how she would never shy away from what she had to say. It was a characteristic I still envied.
"I was wondering if you would like to be my boyfriend."
I chanced a glance over the top of my book and saw his smile falter. "Oh." His face went red and he tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Sorry, Lisa. You're a great girl and everything, but I like someone else."
"Oh," Lisa said in fake nonchalance as she glanced down at her fingernails. "Who is she?"
Michael looked over at me when Lisa was still looking down and I shook my head. I knew I was going to lose her as a friend if he told the truth.
"Uh, she doesn't go to our school. You don't know her," Michael quickly explained and I stifled a relieved sigh.
Lisa never found out about Michael's crush on me. There were times when she would randomly wonder who that girl he liked was, but she quickly let it go.

I take Lisa's note out of the back of my pocket when I get home and prop it up on my dresser. I do that every day for fear of it being washed.
I get up from the bed and pad over to my closet. I have four bins taking up the floor, all of them containing Lisa's clothes. Her mom insisted I take them, saying Lisa would want me to have them though I can only fit a little under half of the articles.
Everything, every cami and pair of jeans, every dress and shirt smells of Warm Vanilla Sugar, Lisa's signature scent. I remember going to Bath & Body Works every month with her to get everything from sanitizer to lotion in the smell.
Mom told me to wear something nice for the party. "A dress would be perfect," she had said. "Maybe one of Lisa's."
I don't understand how my mom can be so clueless. Lisa's always been the skinnier one of the two and her dresses are one of the top things I can never get my body in. That and her jeans. She's a size 1, damn her. But I take Mom's advice and pick up a flowy, floral printed dress from the first bin.
It fits me perfectly, surprisingly, and when I examine myself in the mirror, I don't look half bad. I just want to know how I'm going to tame this wild hair of mine.
A knock sounds at my door and I say a reluctant "Come in!"
"I thought you'd be more happy to see me," my dad says, popping his head through the doorway.
I scream like a 10-year-old as I launch myself into his arms. It seems like forever since I've seen my dad last, seven months to be exact as he was deployed in Iraq. I back away, holding him at arm's length. It seems as if he's gotten taller and his already dark chocolate skin tone seems darker. He's definitely more muscular. I have to hug him again because the moment seems surreal.
"I'm happy to see you, too, sweetheart," he says, laughing. His deep chuckle almost makes me crumple in relief at having him back, especially at a time like this.
We finally pull away and he leads me to the bed; we get comfortable at the foot. "How're you feeling?" Dad questions.
I sigh. "Okay, I guess. I just feel really lost without her. We were attached to the hip. Now that she's gone, I don't know what to do with myself," I confess.
It feels good to be telling the truth about how I feel. I've always told my mom that I was fine because I know that's what she wants to hear. She's never been the comforting, "You can tell me anything" parent. If you have a problem, she usually just gives you money and sends you on your merrily way.
Dad nods in understanding. "You're just going through the motions," he states and I nod vigorously. Even though he's been gone for awhile, Dad hasn't missed a beat and knows exactly what to say.
He ruffles up my lion's mane, something he always did when I was younger. "I know it seems hard now, but things'll get better." He slaps his hands against his thighs before pushing himself off the bed. "Well, I gotta get ready for this party."
I suck my teeth in sympathy. "She's making you go, too?" I don't know why Mom can't just leave him alone.
"Yep," Dad replies. "Wants me to wear a suit and everything, but I'm not taking things that far." When he passes my dresser, he stops and looks over. I know he sees the note. "Your mom said that was on the bathroom counter at their house."
I nod, though his back is towards me so he can't see. "She had written it to me," I explain. "I haven't let it out of my sight since the police gave it to me."
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "I can't believe it," he mutters quietly. "She was such a nice girl."

Forest Drive is a suburban neighborhood filled with your typical rich people that love to show off how much money they have.  The minimum number of cars occupying each garage is three even though at least one or two of them won't be used and their lawns are impossibly green and evenly cut.
Mom has always wanted to fit into a suburban neighborhood and Dad tried to help by offering to buy her a better car, but she refused to relinquish Midnight, her black beat up truck she got when she was 17. The only reason why Dad has a truck, too, is because he's too big for the smaller cars. He's never favored trucks much, but his genes didn't really care about that.
Our lawn is decent though we do let it overgrow some because the loser of Rock, Paper, Scissors-usually Dad-procrastinates until they have no choice but to finally mow it. I've offered to cut the grass once, but Dad said the mower would take me out as soon as I started it.
The neighbor get-together is directly across the street. I love that house because of it's pitch black roof and shutters that look so well with the white of the rest of the house. The porch railings are decorated with streamers, the matching white rocking chairs swinging slightly with the small November breeze. 
There's a piece of paper taped to the front door saying, "Go through the side gate to the party."
The grass of the backyard is just as immaculate as the lawn. There are picnic tables covered in plain white cloth everywhere and a DJ set off to the edge on the perimeter. The food and drinks are resting on long tables on the back patio and the open sliding glass doors give you a perfect view of the brightly lit kitchen. There are tiki torches everywhere and you can hear nothing but laughing and chatter.
I turn around to my parents but see my mom pulling my dad towards a couple near the DJ set, I'm guessing the residents of the house.
Guess I'm by myself, I think, immediately feeling uncomfortable. I've never been a social butterfly. I like hearing other people talk instead of myself. I've always been the awkward and reserved one, like my dad, and I was more than happy to step back and let Lisa take the reigns. But Lisa's not here anymore and if I'm going to live this life without her, I have to be my own person.
I spot a guy around my age talking to a couple who looks to be in their forties. He has his back to me so I'm only able to see that he has jet black hair and is really tall. I look around to see if there's any young girls, but if there are, they're hiding. Jet Black it is.
I take a deep breath as I walk over and tap his shoulder.