Read Online Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online

Anita sometimes: the way she flared up in defense of her friends and was comically unsubtle in putting down her enemies.
    (Of course, you had to know that Brooke was Anita’s enemy because of a senior boy named Kevin Drake. If you knew this, Anita’s ferocity made complete sense.)
    â€œBrooke is a bitch . Know what she’s going around saying?”
    Merissa didn’t know. Nor did she care.
    â€œShe’s saying, ‘Merissa Carmichael has stage fright. She’s quit the play and says that I can act better than she can— and she’s right .’”
    Merissa felt a jab of annoyance, but only laughed.
    â€œYou think that’s funny? That bitch is lying about my girlfriend?”
    Anita’s nostrils flared in indignation. Anita had more to say, but Merissa slammed her locker door and turned to depart.
    Anita dared to call after her, “Tink wouldn’t like it, M’riss—her girlfriend quitting so that that bitch can be a star!”
    This hurt. This was true Anita Chang style—a stab in the back when you turned your back.
    Merissa wanted to say, You have no right to speak for Tink. You don’t know a damn thing about Tink , but she continued walking away without a backward glance, leaving Anita to stare after her.
    Brooke can think what she thinks. Say what she says. Why should I care?
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    Strange how you can lose interest in your friends.
    You still like them—“love” them—but just don’t want to see them.
    Merissa had to wonder if Tink had felt that way. Just didn’t want to see her friends anymore.
    Not minding that she was leaving them and would not ever see them again.
    She’d said to Merissa hesitantly, “Maybe—I have a favor to ask you, M’riss.”
    Merissa had said, sure. What was it?
    And a funny look came into Tink’s face—wistful, regretful. But stubborn, too.
    â€œMaybe—I’ll ask you some other time.”
    Merissa had said, why not now?
    But of course, being Tink, she didn’t explain. It was like Tink to tantalize you with some hinted-at confidence—then draw back, as if she’d thought better of it.
    Well, Tink had been acting weird around that time. Or, you might say, weirder than usual for Tink.
    With no warning, she’d shaved her head. Totally bored with her hair (she’d said) and so one day she cut most of it off with a scissors, after which—(this was Tink’s gleeful account)—poor Big Moms had had to take her to an emergency session with a hairstylist for damage control.
    Now she seemed embarrassed to have brought up the subject of a favor .
    â€œNo big deal, M’rissa. Some other time.”
    But that was the last time: June 8, 2011.
    Merissa never saw Tink again: Three days later, Tink was d**d.
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    It was something to do with—what she did.
    Something to do with what caused her to do it.
    And now I will never know.
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    To each of her closest friends, Tink had sent a single, final text message at 10:08 p.m. on June 10.
    These were: Merissa, Chloe, Hannah, Nadia.
    If they hadn’t known how special they were to Tink, they would know now. But it was a painful specialness of which they could not speak to outsiders.
    HEY GUYS, GUESS I WON’T BE SEEING YOU FOR A WHILE.
    LOVE YOU GUYS BUT FEELING KINDA BURNT OUT. NBD.
    TINK
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    Not seeing friends you’d been seeing almost every day for almost all your life that matters is like not breathing.
    Except you can’t live without breathing. But you can live without your friends.
    Merissa was letting her cell phone burn out. Forgot to charge it.
    On it were numerous text messages she hadn’t bothered to open.
    Hannah had texted Merissa a half-dozen times, and Merissa failed to reply.
    Chloe had texted Merissa a half-dozen times, and Merissa failed to reply.
    Easier just to delete. Tink knew: No Big Deal.
    (Merissa had never learned what the favor was that Tink had wanted to ask