Discovering the Real Enemy
On the fourth day, I went into Hazel’s room to change her laundry.
Under her bed, I found another notebook.
A newer one. Sophomore year.
The handwriting was tighter. Angrier.
Again there were names.
Pages and pages of names.
Girls who whispered when she walked by. Boys who posted things online after Mason’s funeral. Comments she had screenshotted, printed, and tucked between pages like blackened pressed flowers.
I sat on her carpet and read every page.
Then I understood.
The antagonist had never been a saleswoman. It had never been a dress shop. It was a chorus of cruelty she had been carrying inside herself for two years.
I photographed every page and sent the images to Eli.
I don’t know if any of this helps you, I typed. I just thought you should see what she’s been carrying.
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
I sat waiting.
Finally, his message arrived.
Some of these I already knew. Thank you for the rest.
A minute later came another:
I know what to do with them.
I stared at the screen until it went dark.
Of course he knew.
He had lived through those hallways with her. He had already built the bones of the dress. Now he had found its heart.
