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THIS IS HOW A PERSON DIES:
Flames dancing over a body in a crematorium. Flames flickering in and out of consciousness, shadows dancing over the people standing around, watching the face of a girl—too young, barely seventeen, too filled with promise, such a pity—streak with black, peel away into ash and bone. So this is what's left of Livvy Horlick, Violet thinks. Once the flesh and fat and organs melt away, there's nothing but ash and bone and memories. So this is what's left of my roommate. It seems so bizarre to think that Livvy had just been joking about dyeing Violet's pubic hair two nights ago, and then the next, Violet had found her hanging from the ceiling fan, no more laugh in her eyes.
Violet Korchak tries not to drown in Livvy's mother's heartbreak, but she's being dragged under by her own riptide of misery. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. Over Livvy's mother's shoulder, she watches as they feed Livvy's body to the flames for the cremation ceremony. As the last of her roommate disappears forever, Violet thinks about the summer day Livvy dumped ice cream down Violet's boy-shorts and, on a vindictive streak of revenge, Violet pushed her into the swimming pool. Now the entire school's at Livvy's funeral. Funny how quickly things can change.
And she grieves for how she'll never hear Livvy's laugh again. How she will never get to see through all those bucket-list plans they'd made for the summer after graduation. When Violet walks out of the crematorium, the world looks all wrong, like a jacket three sizes too small. Inside—in her head, in her heart, in the Livvy-sized hole sucker punched through her chest—is both too much and nothing at all.
All that's left of Livvy now are ashes. Ashes and memories. Memories and pain. Two days ago, she was here. Corporeal and breathing. Today, her corpse bears ligature marks from a rope burn around her broken neck and a deathlike pallor. Livvy is gone.
"I'm sorry," Livvy's mother sobs, swiping expensive mascara stains from under her eyes. Her chest trembles. Violet looks away. They're standing on the sidewalk now, outside the crematorium with all the others, dressed head-to-toe in black and drenched in melancholy. "I'm so sorry, Violet."
"It's okay," Violet says, but her voice is tight. "She means too much for both of us."
"You're always welcome at our house, you know that, right?"
"Of course," Violet lies, and she wants to tell the woman before her, the woman who was more of a mother to her than her own, I'm leaving. I can't stay in California. For awhile, I thought I could, because I met Livvy, and she made me feel less bent out-of-shape when my father dumped me at the gates of Verity Prep, where I was the only one with a skateboard and scars underneath the sleeves of my uniform in a sea of kids who should be like me. Old money and trust fund babies. Except, they're not, because I was too pale and from middle-of-nowhere Forks and I see a psychotherapist after school thrice a week. Because there's too much death inside my head. First, Luka and, now, Livvy.
