The End or Something Like That by Ann Dee Ellis Page A

something, I knew I should, but I didn’t.
    Most days I’m like that.
    But some days, even though I know it will turn out bad for me, like when Ms. Homeyer was crying or the time my dad got called a butthead at Joe’s basketball game, there are times I can’t sit still. Something inside me, or something outside of me, won’t let me ignore what is happening.
    At Ms. Dead Homeyer’s funeral, after Gabby sat down, despite everything in my body telling me not to, at Ms. Dead Homeyer’s funeral, I stood up.
    I stood up.
    Skeeter said, “Emmy, what are you doing?”
    I tripped over his legs so I could get by, and people laughed and the yellow-haired lady was smiling so big her face was about to fall off.
    I could do this. I could do this. I could do this.
    I walked up to the podium and right when I got there I started to feel woozy.
    I had something I wanted to say.
    For twelve months, I’d been quiet. Almost every day since Kim died.
    Now, at Ms. Homeyer’s funeral, I wanted to say so many things.
    I wanted to say, you guys are jerks.
    I wanted to say, someone died. Did you know someone died? Someone is dead. You can’t talk like that.
    I wanted to say, don’t you get bored? Don’t you get tired? Doesn’t it get old, making fun of people? Laughing at people?
    I wanted to say, my best friend is gone and she told me she was going to come back. She promised me she would come back and visit me. You all have each other. You all have your stupid lives and I have nothing.
    I wanted to say, I am so sad.
    And finally I wanted to say, this is my mom’s dress and I would never wear it in real life.
    I stood there.
    They were all were watching me. Gabby had that face on her face.
    I swallowed and I was sweating, drips running down my back. Gabby leaned over and said something to one of her halter-top friends. The girl smiled.
    They were doing it right in front of me and I stood there and I prayed.
    I prayed to Kim. My best friend who saved me. She always saved me. I said: Dear Kim. Please. Please save me.
    That’s when Ms. Dead Homeyer walked in the door.

• 26 •
    A week after Kim’s funeral, Gabby came over.
    She rang our doorbell and I was under my bed.
    Mom let her come up to my room, which was about two feet high with clothes and old dishes.
    Mom said, “Emmy?”
    I didn’t move.
    â€œEm?”
    They walked in. I watched Mom’s feet, her Nike running shoes. Gabby was wearing flip-flops and her toenails were glitter pink. Because Gabby loves glitter.
    I decided to see how long I could hold my breath but then I changed my mind and said, “I’m under here.”
    Mom squatted down. “What are you doing?”
    â€œLying under my bed.”
    â€œCome out from under there,” Mom said. And I could tell she was embarrassed. My mom gets embarrassed about things like me lying under my bed.
    I closed my eyes for three seconds.
    Then I crawled out.
    â€œAre you okay?” Mom asked.
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    Mom moved my hair out of my face. Then she said, “Your good friend Gabby is here.”
    Gabby stood against the wall, blending into the white paint almost. I’d never seen her look so bad and it sort of made me feel good. Which is mean.
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œI’ll leave you two alone.”
    I sat on my bed.
    I had worn the same clothes five days in a row, my hair was a knot, and I smelled like potato chips.
    Gabby stood there and I sat there.
    Then she said, “I brought you something.” She handed me a box wrapped in polka-dot-pink paper with a silver bow.
    â€œIt’s nothing really,” she said. “It’s not really anything. It’s just, I just, I just thought . . . I don’t know.”
    I held it in my hands and her voice thinned out to nothing.
    Finally she said, “You can open it.”
    â€œOh,” I said. “Yeah.”
    The air felt hot and