The Vanishing Girls Of Willow Creek (Willow Creek, #1)

Chapter Twenty Three

The harsh reality of grief is that once the funeral is over, people move on with their lives, leaving you all alone to walk this lonely and painful journey of grief. Little does anyone care that for griever, everyday is a new battle to start being strong again. - Narin Grewal

When I arrived home after the funeral, I found myself doing something I never thought I would.

Looking through last year's year book.

As I laid on my bed, flipping through the pages, I kept coming across Miranda's face.

For the first time I actually took the time to look at her face. In all her pictures, she was smiling. A smile that never quite reached her eyes. Unless she was with Jackson.

A quiet rapping on the window caught my attention.

"Can you open the window please?" It was Jonathan, holding his jacket over his head, crouched down as he waited for me to open the window. "I'm getting drenched out here."

I tossed the yearbook on my bed before hurrying over to the window, unsealing the latch and pushing it open.

"Hurry in. Before it soaks my floor."

He jumped downed carefully, pulling his jacket from his atop his head.

"Sorry about the mess," he gestured to the water he'd tracked in from his shoes as well as his jacket.

"It's fine. I have to clean anyway." I told him, making my way back to my bed. "Just hang it in the bathroom."

He did as I said, returning seconds later, no longer holding the jacket.

"So, what were you looking at? Did you find your parents yearbook?"

I slapped myself on the forehead. "I totally forgot."

He sat next to me, grabbing the discarded yearbook which laid open on a picture of Jackson and Miranda.

"Is this about that girl who was talking to you at the graveyard?" I nodded. "Who was she?"

"Her name is Amy. She's Miranda's cousin."

"What caused her to come over to you?"

"She was talking to me about Miranda. Apparently Miranda mentioned me to her quite a bit over the years."

"What? How much you two didn't get along?"

"That's what I thought too. But, no. She told me that Miranda never actually hated me."

"Well, she sure acted like she did."

"Amy said it was Kirsty. She convinced Miranda to harass me. Amy told me that Miranda told her she actually envied me."

"Envied you?"

"I know. My response exactly. She told me how Miranda would talk about how much she admired my ability to not care what others thought or said about me. Now remember when she used to wear glasses back in elementary and middle school?" He nodded. "Well, the summer before grade nine, she decided to reinvent herself. She wanted to become what she thought would make everyone like her. But, look." I grabbed the book from him, flipping through the pages, pausing occasionally to point out pictures. "Notice how in every picture with her so called 'friends' she is never smiling? Amy said it was because she was angry at herself for allowing them to change who she was. Jackson was the only one who saw past it all. He saw the real her."

We were now back at the picture we'd begun with.

It was a picture of Jackson in his football uniform, holding Miranda, in her cheerleading uniform, both smiling at one another. Real smiles.