Chapter 10

She dreamt almost every night, and every night it was the same thing. First she felt the flush of embarrassment and confusion as ShayAnne screamed at her over and over again. Then it melted into sadness as she wept for herself, the great misfit who could not and did not belong. Eventually the sadness became despair, and Mila would find herself atop a large building, dressed all in white, and looking longingly at the tiny cars on the street below. Two voices whispered alternately in her ear.

One said, “Do it.”

The other said, “Don’t.”

It was the same way every night, over and over.

“Do it.”

“Don’t.”

And Mila would stand on the rooftop, looking down, her flowing white dress blowing in the rushing breeze, swirling around her calves as she tried to make sense of her life, of what was happening to her.

“Do it.”

“Don’t.”

“Do it.”

“Don’t.”

Occasionally a new voice would interrupt, “Milo, can you hear me?”

But she never could respond. She could only stare down at the cars on the street and wonder where the voices were coming from. Up here she was all alone. There was no one to talk to, no one to see, only the disembodied voices whispering in her ear all night long.

She wished she had courage. A courageous person would know what to do. A courageous person could wake up from the deep sleep to which she had succumbed. Every day it got heavier, and she lacked the will to fight it. What reason did she have to wake up?

What reason did she have not to jump?

“Do it,” the voice said.

She opened her arms and obeyed.