Read Who I Kissed for Free Online

used the word closure before. I wonder if he’s reading psychology books.
    I close my eyes to avoid thinking about that too long. When I don’t say anything more, he leaves the room.
    By the morning I’ve moved the plate to my dresser. The bread is hard and stale. The peas are untouched.
    ***
    I’m wearing ugly polyester-ish black pants that Dad bought me for an awards banquet in the summer. I have on a black turtleneck with black boots. It feels like I’m playing a part in a movie, the Mourner . Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten my lines. The cues are all jumbled in my head.
    Unseasonably warm temperatures drop to honor the seriousness of the day. It’s cold enough that my classmates are wearing their coats zipped up. Dad and I are sitting in the idling car watching them walk by. There’s no room to park in the church parking lot. We’ve stopped in front of a house a block away from the church. The street is lined with cars. Dead teenagers collect quite a crowd.
    I’m made of ice, so it surprises me that my breath is invisible in the air. I expect white clouds to float from my lips. The heat must be on and the air must be warm, but it doesn’t reach my insides.
    I can’t move.
    “Come on, Sam.” Dad reaches over and presses his gloved fingers into my arm. We touch so much lately, more than we have since I was a kid.
    “We’re here. We should go in.” I sense his desire to push me out of the car. To make me do the right thing. He wants me to go inside and show the world he didn’t completely fail raising me alone.
    “I can’t.” I try to imagine the stares from Alex’s mom and dad. I close my eyes tight and try to feel their hatred from inside the car. I deserve to let them have that, to let them pour it into me, blame me for their loss. But I’m afraid, terrified I’ll never thaw out if their faces reveal what I did to them.
    I’m the last person they’ll want to see, I tell myself. Going inside would be for me. It’s best for everyone else that I stay away. I’m unable to push myself out of the car. I want to have something useful to say to them. Something to make amends. But how do you say you’re sorry for killing someone’s son? What do I expect them to say back?
    “It’s okay. We forgive you.”
    Of course not.
    There is nothing. There is no apology. There is no Hallmark card.
    I want to tell his parents I’d gladly trade places with Alex, give my life for his. But how do you say something like that without sounding like a complete asshole?
    It’s too ridiculous to imagine.
    “I can’t, Dad. I’ll make things worse. Please. Take me home.”
    ***
    Hours later, Dad pokes his head inside my room. “Sam? Get up. You’ve got to move around.”
    I do? I have no idea why he thinks that. When we got home I walked straight to my room and crawled under the covers. I don’t know what time it is now. It ceased to matter long ago. Dad makes sounds in his throat and then walks inside my room, goes to the phone, and plugs the line back in the jack. “Your Aunt Allie wants to speak to you. It might help to talk to her.”
    I don’t point out that he’s done his best to keep us from talking in the past. He takes away the breakfast I didn’t eat and returns with another plate—a grilled cheese sandwich and purple grapes. My favorite. He throws my cell phone at me and leaves the room. He’s charged it. I stare at it for a minute and see a long string of texts from Clair. Taylor. Aunt Allie. I delete them all without reading them.
    Almost immediately the landline rings. Dad picks it up in the living room. By the tone of his voice I guess it’s Aunt Allie, but I don’t listen to what he says to her.
    I drift in and out of sleep, and then there’s light in my room and I guess it must be morning. Dad walks back into the room and stands in front of my bed with his arms crossed.
    “If you don’t get up and into the shower I will pick you up and shower you myself.”
    He means it, and the horror of