Eighth period came quickly on that stifling-hot Monday afternoon.
The nerves in the class were palpable and it was obvious that nobody, except for, maybe Madison, wanted to be the first to present. Ms. Steinberg had them start off class with a warm-up exercise that had everyone on edge even more because it felt like she was delaying the inevitable for some reason. And then came the dreaded question:
"Who would like to go first?"
The class remained silent, almost as if everyone was hoping that they were invisible enough to ensure Ms. Steinberg wouldn't pick on them first. Jess refused to be the first one to get up but silently promised that he would go second or maybe third. Or maybe fourth. Or even fifth. Just not first.
"C'mon, people! You're all going to have to go at some point! Don't make me choose!" Ms. Steinberg complained.
Alexandra's hand shot up just before Madison Baker's did, catching Ms. Steinberg's attention before the overachiever could and Jess felt a little relieved, for he'd endured being in the same class as Madison ever since second grade and couldn't stand her anymore. Their teacher went over to her laptop to pull up the powerpoint and then motioned for Alexandra to begin.
His neighbor smiled at the class - Jess detected a bit of shyness in her grin and smiled at her just as they made eye contact, which seemed to calm her down and give her a boost of confidence - as she said,
"Hi, everyone. I'm Alexandra and I decided to present a poem I found online. It's titled 'Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus' and it was written by a poet named Leslie Hannigan."
"Is this poet living or dead?" Ms. Steinberg asked from her seat on the stool next to the computer.
"She's alive," Alexandra answered, her blunt response sending a chill shooting down Jess' spine. "She's still posting poems. Actually, I think she's around my age."
"That's really interesting. Off the top of your head, can you tell us the title of one other poem that she's written?"
"She just posted a new one called 'Mama' a few days ago but I haven't read it yet."
"Well, if you get around to reading it, let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your thoughts."
"Will do," Alexandra promised and upon receiving a cue from Ms. Steinberg, she continued her presentation.
Jess' vision went blurry as he read over the poem typed out on the slide and he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience.
He could hear Leslie's voice reading the poem in the place of Alexandra's, almost like his dear friend was presenting the poem with his next door neighbor. It was too much to take in and resulted in Jess spending the rest of class feeling numb, even as Madison Baker got up after Alexandra followed by two more classmates who finished up five minutes before class ended, allowing them to be dismissed just as the bell rang.
"We'll continue presentations tomorrow! Those of you who haven't finished your projects better be ready to go!" Ms. Steinberg threatened as they packed up and filed out into the hallway to their lockers.
The building was always in a bustle after school, with some students going home while others were getting ready to head to after-school activities or sports practice. Jess himself had to meet up with the track team in a bit but figured he had just enough time to ask Alexandra a quick question.
"Hey, do you mind if we talk for a second?" Jess asked. He'd found Alexandra by her locker and he considered it a miracle, too, because he didn't think it could have waited until lunch tomorrow to talk about what had happened in class today.
"Yeah, sure! What's up?"
"Where did you find the poem you presented?
"It was online on a poetry website," Alexandra explained. "Why do you ask? You look like you saw a ghost or something."
"I-It… took me by surprise, that's all," Jess said, though it was hardly an explanation and he knew Alexandra was now suspicious. He never should have said anything in the first place, he realized grimly, but it was too late to take it all back.
"How come?"
"This is going to sound really crazy but the person who wrote that poem is supposed to be dead."
"What?" Alexandra scoffed. "C'mon, Jess, don't mess around!"
"I'm not," he insisted. "The writer of that poem is supposed to be dead."
"Are you sure you're not confusing it with something else?"
"But how many people have written a poem that's just like the one you presented?" Jess realized he sounded incredibly accusatory but it was too late because the words had practically flown out of his mouth before he could stop them and he couldn't hope to take them back.
"How should I know?" Alexandra huffed. She paused, then said, "Wait, Jess, what's going on?"
"Hey, Alex, sorry to interrupt but I have to stay after for football tryouts. Will you let Mom know?" a boy with dark hair said as he strode by dressed in football gear, clearly in a hurry. With the immense level of familiarity between them, Jess figured that was Alexandra's brother, though he didn't get a good look at his face as he rushed by.
"Yeah, sure," she said quickly. "Good luck at tryouts."
"Thanks! See ya later!"
"So wanna tell me what this is all about?" Alexandra asked as she turned her attention back to Jess.
"Um… it's a long story," he mumbled, though that only served to confuse her even more.
Why did he even think he had any chance of getting Alexandra to understand that the poet who had written S.C.U.B.A. was dead?
Judging by the look on her face, Alexandra thought he was crazy, prompting Jess to say "sorry, forget I said anything" before turning on his heel and walking away as quickly as he could.
When he made it home after practice, he hurriedly put his dirtbike away and ran into the house as fast as he could to avoid being seen by Alexandra, whose bedroom looked out onto the dirt driveway that their houses shared, because he couldn't face her right now.
He went upstairs to his bedroom, opened his laptop, and waited impatiently for it to turn on and as soon as it was warmed up, he searched up 'self-contained underwater breathing apparatus poem' on the internet. Blood pounded in his ears as the little loading wheel spun around and around until he was sure he would be dizzy and then, the results page finally loaded. The first result was from a poetry site, possibly the same one Alexandra had found when she had been looking for her project's topic.
Jess found himself mouthing along to the words in the poem and could hear his dear friend's whimsical voice in his ears as she recited her masterpiece.
Leslie wrote this poem a long time ago. How did it end up on this website?
Further investigation into the poet's profile left him with more questions than answers when he saw only two other poems had been published, titled Mama and Dawn Patrol.
Mama brought tears to his eyes, instilling a longing to be hugged by one's mother even though his mother never really hugged him and he'd stopped seeking out hugs after the age of nine, and Dawn Patrol ended up being much more light-hearted than he'd anticipated, despite not knowing what it meant to go on "dawn patrol". It was only after he looked it up that he learned it meant to wake up extremely early, even before dawn, to go surfing.
I wake up every day before the sun peeks out over the horizon
so that I'm ready to say hello to a new day when the light touches the land
and warms up the ground.
The surfboard under my arm is all I need
to dive back into the ocean's depths,
like a water nymph returning to Atlantis
after a long reprieve.
The sea salt braided in my hair
and sand clinging to my cheeks
is like make-up for mermaids
that never completely washes away even after
I've come back to dry land.
The current is picking up and the waves are getting high.
Bubbles rise above my head as I duck-dive,
feeling the wave brushing over my back as it rolls by.
I suddenly realize that I would never give up this moment for anything
Because I know that this is where I'm meant to be.
Jess wanted to believe Leslie was alive somehow, that she was living and breathing somewhere in the world and that she was happy. He wanted to believe that she was waking up every morning at the crack of dawn to go surfing and that the last seven years hadn't been stolen from her because of the horrible accident on that fateful day.
If Leslie was alive, then why hadn't she tried to reach out to him?
Why hadn't her parents tried to get back into contact with him, especially knowing how close they had been, or even better, taken a trip back to Lark Creek so they could see each other face-to-face instead of letting so much time pass?
Something about all this wasn't adding up and it left Jess with more questions than answers as he tried to wrack his brain for any solutions that could help explain how Leslie was alive.
But she was alive. He wanted to believe she was.
If there wasn't a picture of her opened up on his computer screen, he would have thought the world was playing a huge prank on him.
It seemed that Alexandra had been the unwitting court jester appointed to deliver him a message that had been long overdue: that his dear friend, Leslie Burke, was alive.
Before today, Jess would have never expected to see Leslie alive again, not after he'd come home from the museum with Ms. Edmunds, only to be told that Leslie had drowned in the creek. The last time he saw her had been the day prior to her death.
They had hung out in Terabithia and at the time, the floodwaters had been so high that it was a miracle they had managed to swing across the river without falling in. It had also been raining on and off, which only added to the general misery of springtime, and he remembered getting caught in the downpour with Leslie as they ran home.
The last thing they said to each other was "see ya!" and he remembered Leslie wearing a huge grin on her face as she waved goodbye to him before running home with P.T. in her arms and that was the last time he saw her alive.
He cared even less for church than he did when he was younger and wasn't even sure if he considered himself a believer anymore but when he went to church that Sunday, Jess found himself praying for Leslie's health and well-being, hands clasped together while the preacher droned on about God and Jesus.
Leslie, I hope you're doing good, wherever you are, he thought. He could only hope she was happy, safe, and prayed that they would meet again one day.