Marilyn, Marilyn

Part One

'What book?'

Jonah looks up. It's a girl, his age - maybe a little younger - with shining eyes and unruly brown hair. She can only be described as radiant. He sticks a finger between the pages to mark his place and holds it up so she can see. 'Hamlet,' he says.

'Ah,' she replies. 'A classic. For school?'

He nods his confirmation.

'I had to read that, too. But most of us just watched the movie.'

'Was it any good?'

She shrugs. 'Depends what you're into.' She hooks a finger into the strap of her backpack, pulling it a little further up her shoulders, and turns her head at the sound of a woman's voice calling. 'That's me. I'll see you around?'

Jonah blinks. 'Around?'

'Yeah. I mean, I've seen you here a few times already. Unless whoever you're waiting for is getting out soon?'

He thinks of Ella, black hair and flashing smile and mangled. 'No. I don't think she's getting out soon.'

The girl smiles. It's a sympathetic sort of smile. 'Then later.' And she leaves.

'Come on, Jonah. Come on.'

'Are you fucking kidding me, Ella? The water looks cold as shit. I'm not going in.'

'Live a little, Jonah. Live a little.'

Ella always did that. Repeat her sentences as if it would make you believe it more, somehow. It always worked on him.

He dove in, the wall of water sending his brain into a whirlwind of buzzing and dizziness, and he could barely hear her shout of glee as he surfaced. He looked at her through salty eyes and she looked like the sun.

'There you go, Jonah! There you go! God, I knew you'd do it, Jonah.'

That was another thing she did a lot. Say his name. Sometimes he liked his name better when she said it, sometimes it sounded like a fucking curse. Like she was whispering under her breath, Jonah, Jonah, Jonah, you're mine.