November 11

The damn alarm clock starts off again. The ordinarily mellow voices of Blue Oyster Cult shoot out of the speakers like a hypersonic siren because the volume - once again - is mysteriously adjusted to its loudest setting.

I slam on the nightstand. My aim misses the first couple of attempts. Eventually I crawl out from under the blankets so I can see the off button I need to end the music.

My mother pokes her head in the door. She is still in her nightclothes.

"What time is it?" I growl.

"Five thirty," Mom answers. "Stella, maybe you should get a new alarm clock."

"I did," I mutter.

I point to the cheap alarm clock, which is still on the nightstand.

"Then why-?"

"I don't know." I sweep at my hair back. "I'm sorry."

Mom's head bobs. She yawns. "We might as well start the day early."

II

Chelsea and Alice waylay me as soon as I arrive at my locker.

"So, what did Ben say?" they recite in unison.

Actually, I am surprised it has taken them so long to interrogate me for answers, and I say so.

"You've been avoiding us all day yesterday," Chelsea protests. "We called you four times. You never called back."

"Right." I was at Lindsey's most of the time, I start to say, but my friends will not waste time with unnecessary chitchat.

"Tell us everything," Alice orders.

"Nothing happened," I say firmly. "We just talked about books."

"You talked about books?" Alice echoes incredulously.

Chelsea, more practiced in extracting information, asks, "How did he ask you to his table?"

"We met at the soda dispenser," I tell them. "He noticed I got a big cup of Mountain Dew-"

"You didn't!" Alice screeches.

"I said something about a big night studying. He said he had a big test today as well. Then he asked if he could join me for lunch."

"You didn't drink all that Mountain Dew, did you?" Alice said.

Chelsea tosses a withering look at her. "And then?"

"And then we talked about books. That's it."

"Well," Chelsea hedges. "I guess that's a step up."

"Did he ask you out?" Alice cuts in.

"No."

Chelsea smiles reassuringly. "I bet he will soon."

"No, he won't." I remain adamant. "He was Laurie's boyfriend."

"He wasn't Laurie's boyfriend," Chelsea corrects me. "He never even asked her out. And even if he did, why would it matter?"

I shake my head. "It wouldn't be right."

"Ben'll get over Laurie. After all, she didn't die. And like I said, he never even asked her out."

"Okay."

Chelsea takes that as agreement. I let her, because that means the conversation is over.

III

I pay absolutely no attention to anything that happens during class. I think about Ivy instead.

Ivy didn't die by any ordinary method. She was put under regressive hypnosis. After the doctor worked backwards to before her birth, she panicked, as she did in her nightmares. Nobody could wake her up and eventually she stopped breathing.

The book hinted that she died of fright.

Is it possible to die from fright? Is it something I should worry about? A couple of mornings I was sure I was bleeding to death. It was frightening, but was it frightening enough to kill me? Or was I getting fiction mixed up with real life?

I nab Ben outside the cafeteria before lunch.

"Do you know - is it possible for someone to be frightened enough that their throat just closes up?"

"Like asthma?"

"Sort of. Or an attack caused by —" Saying "fright" sounds too ridiculous. "By stress or something?"

"I don't think so. Sometimes asthma is triggered by a stress, but that's not that simple to say it's the cause."

"Can it happen if the person doesn't have asthma."

Another pause. "I've never heard of it."

"Oh." I should have already known the possibility of dying by fright is pretty much nonexistent. But then Ivy's case was rare, and I have no idea how rare my case is.

If I have a case. If I have not merely gone insane, which is a much greater likelihood, if I am applying a fictional character's problems to my life.

"Why did you want to know?" Ben asks gently.

"I just wondered," I mumble, trying to act like my curiosity is merely trivial.

IIII

Joanne stops over after school.

"I wasn't sure if you were babysitting," she says when I greet her at the door.

"Not today," I echo. I invite her in.

I have been watching TV, and trying to finish yesterday's homework, when she came over. Joanne glances at the TV.

"Can you turn that off?" she asks reluctantly.

I aim the remote at the TV. Saved By The Bell disappears from the screen.

Joanne collapses in the chair opposite my couch. She transfers the throw pillow onto her lap, smoothing the silky fringe compulsively before she speaks.

"I decided to go to Costa Rica," Joanne begins.

"That's great," I say. "I haven't decided where I'm going yet." I haven't even looked at the brochures since Saturday, I think guiltily.

"I'm going next semester."

I angle my head, confused.

"You mean next year."

"No, next semester. This spring."

"That's fast," I say carefully. Joanne wants to travel more than anything in the world. She has fantasized about it since preschool. She has been reading National Geographic since she was nine and had papered her room with posters of foreign landscapes since she was ten. She has checked out all the travel videos from the public library. She has an atlas she has thumbed through so often, almost all the pages have fallen loose of the bindings. The atlas is less than two years old.

"Are you excited about it?" I ask, pressing my face in a smile.

Joanne nods. "Yeah. I'm going to join a group to help save the rainforests. I'll get to see all these interesting plants and animals.

"Cool."

"People from all over the world join this group. I've already talked to some people on-line. A few are from Brazil, one's from France, one's from Japan."

"Wow," I echo. "What do your parents think?"

"They've gotten used to the idea of me leaving. And they agree it's a great opportunity."

"Good. I'm happy for you."

"I hope you sign up for this too, Stella," Joanne says. "For the International Exchange. It'd be good for you to get out of Haddonfield. Go somewhere where people have real conversations, and not just dwell on a local serial killer and the sex lives of his victims."

"I'm looking into it," I say, more or less honestly. "Maybe next year. When are you leaving?"

"December. After Christmas."

That is only a little more than a month away, I think. Christmas creeps up awfully fast this year. It's just as well I have to wait until next year. I can't leave now.

"Stella," Joanne asks. "Are you okay with this?"

"Of course." I paste on my big smile again. The last thing Joanne wants to hear is that my past self is waging a vendetta against her killer. She'd prefer to discuss her upcoming trip.

"I'm rethinking your Christmas gift," I fib. "What do you bring to Costa Rica?"