The In Between

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

Tara

I have to stop by the “graveyard” on the way to Dorrie’s Doughnuts to drop off my obituary. I’m not dead, it’s just a requirement of my summer internship. Everyone at the Heron Herald works their way up from the “graveyard,” the obituary section. I’m going to spend the summer fact-checking, but my supervisor, Mr. Bellows promised to give me a shot at writing an actual piece if I do well here. Hence, the audition obit. My own.

Tara Jenkins died yesterday. She’s survived by devoted mother, Judy, annoying but loving sister, Meg, absentee father, Frank and best friend/pop culture junkie Gabby. She was poised to become features editor of the Heron High School Paper. She died tragically of embarrassment related to her massive crush on Justin Westcroft.

 

That would have been more sincere, but I’m smart enough to know that obits aren’t supposed to be completely sincere. Here’s what I handed in instead:

Tara Jenkins, 15, died yesterday in her home. She’s survived by devoted mother, Judy, loving sister, Meg, and father, Frank. She was poised to become features editor of the Heron High School Paper. Recently, Ms. Jenkins gained local attention and praise for resuscitating Heron High star soccer player, Justin Westcroft. According to her mother, Tara had dreams of becoming a journalist or a nurse.

“You left out the cause of death,” Mr. Bellows says simply, giving me the tour while reading my writing sample.

“Broken heart? ” I quip.

“Cardiac arrest?” he deadpans with a smile. “It’s fine, but I like to find one detail or story—something special or something unexpected. Something that says who the person was. What’s special about you Tara?”

I bite my lip, trying to think of good answer. I am completely stumped.

“I don’t believe that the most interesting thing about you is saving some soccer player. I can think of about twenty interesting things about you and I’ve only known you five minutes.”

“Like what?” I sound like I’m fishing, but I really want to know.

“Like I think you need to figure yourself out,” he says, patting me on the shoulder. He hands me a pile of other dead people to fact-check and disappears to refill his coffee cup.

“I’m not working today, I start tomorrow,” I call after him.

“Death waits for no one!” he exclaims without looking back.

I get to Dorrie’s Doughnuts ten minutes late, pulling the hideous chrome yellow t-shirt with a giant smiling doughnut over my head hastily. Dorrie’s eleven-year-old son designed it. She thinks he’s an artistic genius. He’s not.

Mr. Bellows’ words rattle around in my head while I pour endless rounds of coffee, clean the coffee mugs, and pour more coffee. If I don’t know what makes me special, then how could Justin?

I keep going over and over Justin’s visit in my mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when it all went bad. He probably left my room and went right back to Amanda’s. They probably laughed about me and my sob story and my pink room that looks like it belongs to a nine-year-old.

I stare at the giant red clock over the doughnut case but the minutes pass as slowly as hours. My legs feel like they weigh about a thousand pounds each, and it takes enormous effort just to move around the store. I space out while people are giving me their orders, making them repeat themselves twice, sometimes three times, while Mrs. Pederson watches with a disappointed look on her face. I find myself glancing out the window, as if Justin will magically appear. There is no reason to think this, no reason at all, and yet …I don’t want us to go back to not talking.