“The Sirens sing the truth about what you desire.” – Annabeth Chase

Step counter: 0

According to the rusty clock hanging on the cafeteria wall, eight minutes and 17 seconds have passed since I began my staring competition with the lunch line exit. When you finally appear in the doorway, lunch tray in one hand and can of Snapple in the other, you’re right by Michaela’s side.

I watch, unmoving, as your eyes follow hers to the far right corner of the cafeteria. I’m sitting on the other side of the dining hall at our usual table, far from the reaches of your gaze. Maybe you just don’t see me.

Liv! I call. Livie!

Your head doesn’t turn. Maybe you just don’t hear me.

Michaela's pristine Nike Dunk lifts off the ground, planting a few feet right from where it started. Yours follows. The moment your sneaker lands, I begin to count.

Step counter: 1

They say we’re entering the treacherous waters. Here, the sirens sing louder than ever. Beware, they say. Plug your ears. Steel your mind. If you don’t, you’ll be their next victim. We laugh at their warnings. We’re special, we say. They can’t sway us. We sail straight into the infested waters, heads up and eyes ahead, not knowing how wrong we are.

Step counter: 2

Remember when they called us Smiles Squared? Did Smiles Squared go to the concert last night? What does Smiles Squared think of Jenna’s new boyfriend? What’s Smiles Squared giggling about now? Remember when all we did was drink in the magic around us, hand in hand, with grins bigger than ourselves?

Step counter: 3

The moment we enter their territory, their songs drift up to our ears. The music turns my head, but I don’t budge. It’s beautiful, you say, walking over to the railing.

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I walk into the cafeteria on the first day of school to see your water bottle where it shouldn’t be. It’s the orange one, the one decked out with those neon vinyl stickers we picked out together on Etsy, perched on a table far away from our usual one, out of place among several pastel-colored Hydroflasks. I frown, scanning the cafeteria as I weave my way to our usual table– the one with two parallel scratch marks running across the surface, perfect for two best friends. As I begin to unpack my homemade pork dumplings, you exit the lunch line with Michaela and Annison and Lydia. You sneak a peek at me, smile, wave, and continue walking. My hands hover over my chopsticks.

Step counter: 5

Remember when you joined my class in January of first grade, when you were just that innocent farmgirl from Kansas, new to the city, with a spring in your step and stars in your eyes? Remember when you stepped onto the school playground for the first time? How you tossed your jacket to the side and sprinted for the monkey bars as I, bundled in a pink coat, chased after your tinkling laugh, shivering yet enthralled?

Step counter: 6

You peer over the ship’s railing, look back at me, peer over the railing, look back at me.

Step counter: 7

Two weeks have passed since school started. We’ve sat together at our table a total of three times.

I’m just trying to branch out, you tell me. Let’s face the real world. We need more friends than just each other.

I nod slowly. But we’re still besties? Smiles Squared for life?

Oh yeah. Your mouth smiles, but your eyes don't seem to.

Only after you walk away do I realize you never pinky promised.

Step counter: 8

Remember how we turned to each other and never looked back? How we crouched by that majestic oak in your front yard as I drizzled cinnamon and honey in a lopsided ring across the ridged bark, chanting fairy-summoning spells aloud? Remember how the edges of your mouth curved into that twinkling, dimpled grin as you absorbed my maniacal energy? How I sighed maybe this potion won’t work and you cut me off with a wink and a yes it will?

Step counter: 9

So any birthday plans? I fall into step alongside you as you hurry out of history class. It’s the fourth week of school. Birthday plans? You glance behind you, to your left, to your right. I mean, not really. I’m just gonna go out and eat with my family. I don't think I’d have time for much else. I shrug and smile. Makes sense. Yet it doesn’t. We usually start planning for your annual sleepover bash weeks in advance. But then again, the teachers have ramped the workload up a notch in seventh grade. I swallow the cold lump creeping up my throat. That’s why. It has to be.

Step counter: 10

One moment, you’re standing by my side. The next, you’re not. I hear the splash before I see it.

Step counter: 11

It’s your birthday. The moment the school doors open at 7:30am, my feet follow a mind of their own. They carry my body by the front desk and past that receptionist with a frozen smile, through the gray tiled hallway and up the west staircase. The locker numbers climb and climb, blurring in what seems like time lapse and slow motion at the same time in a reel I’m merely watching. Until we hit 252. I watch as my hands twist your locker dial, tucking the whipped soap set they brought you among the streamers and confetti someone else scattered atop your binders yesterday. My feet step back. What am I doing?

Step counter: 12

Remember the high dive at the pool? How you, refusing to let me see the water below as the swirling monster I believed so firmly in, grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to the edge of the wobbling board made for one and one only? Remember how our feet lifted off the fiberglass before the lifeguards could blow their whistles, your fingers lacing tighter around mine, dissolving the scream at the tip of my tongue, as the world around us fell away in midair?

Step counter: 13

Your figure slips beneath the waves, your body nothing more than a rippling shadow. They want you. You want them. I jump in after you.

Step counter: 14

My feet glue me to the floor by your locker. Only when you appear, three silhouettes by your side, can my body move. Happy birthday, my mouth whispers. My arms embrace you. The silhouettes stop in their tracks. My arms lock tighter. You squirm. My arms don’t let go. You wriggle out of my grasp. One silhouette whispers something to another. The words slumber and invite seep through my ears. My feet won’t budge. It’s just you and me. Two stones in a river. One’s lodged in the silt. The current sweeps the other away.

Step counter: 15

I can hear the music, but I can’t listen. All I can perceive is your shadow, slipping further and further into their territory.

Step counter: 16

I don’t blink when I see your Snap story at 8:02pm. Silhouettes crowd around you. Michaela. Annison. Lydia. The four of you gaze at a cake topped with an aflame 1 and 3. The dam within me topples. Floods pour from my eyes, waves of throbbing hollowness battering and battering and battering my heart as I lock my gaze with yours, the stars in your eyes shining like they used to around me.

Step counter: 17

Remember that promise we made to each other on the bus ride home one sunny spring afternoon? How we vowed to never let go of each other as long as the world remained safe from zombies and fireballs? Remember curling your pinky around mine, the stars in your eyes shining brighter than ever, as we nodded our heads in affirmation at the same time? Do you remember, Livie? Do you?

Step counter: 18

A red blur tints the edges of my vision. Your figure spirals deeper still, murky silhouettes closing in around you. I try to gurgle your name. As oxygen escapes my lungs, hope does too.

Step counter: 19

I stop by your locker this morning as you’re pulling out your Dior Lip Glow Oil. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You swivel to face my voice, your eyebrows raised. I smile. You wanna catch up at lunch? We can play never-have-I-ever like the good old days and— Sure, you interrupt, grinning. Your face freezes. Your teeth shine too white, your mouth suspended in a boxy curve that screams a silent distance that never existed between us before.

Step counter: 20

You’ll meet me at our table? I ask your blank face. Sure. Your mouth doesn’t seem to move. Promise? I reach for your hand, slipping my pinky into yours. Your palms are too cold, too rocky to be your real skin. I guess, you whisper. You shake your fingers loose and turn back to your locker, rolling your gloss brush over your lips again. And again. And again. Until you’ve used up all the sparkle.

Step counter: 21

The scarlet veil before my eyes grows darker by the second. The silhouettes twirl round and round, like unfurling silks, shrouding your shadow from my view. No, I call as the waves lift me, arms and legs suspended, away from you.

Step counter: 22

I should’ve listened to their warnings before we set sail. I should’ve stuffed your ears full. Tied you to a post on our ship. Held your hand as we sailed through their waters. So you couldn’t heed their songs. So they couldn’t drag you under.

Step counter: 23

All I can see is the back of your body. I eye your plaid skirt. The fabric swoops from left to right, like a swishing veil, revealing your pink Lululemon shorts underneath. Maybe you’ll end up in detention for your skirt length. I doubt you’d care, as long as Michaela’s there too.

Step counter: 24

I stand on the ship deck, alone, eyes locked on the patch of water where you went under. Dark outlines dance deep below. You’re not coming back, are you?

Step counter: 25

If only you’d glance behind you, at the kid with a face full of acne slouching, alone, at the lunch table with two parallel scratch marks across the surface, staring at her beat-up Skechers that used to carry her from her house to yours.

If only you’d ponder those severed ties and shattered memories, your lying laughs and laughing lies.

If only you’d gaze into my soul, the stars in your eyes shining brighter than ever, and pinky promise me we could be Smiles Squared again.