Love, Mary-Kate
“Mary-Kate’s dead,” Elizabeth’s mother had glanced up from her Southern Living magazine only once to deliver the news.
The words echoed through her head while she closed the fridge door in shock, forgetting about breakfast altogether.
“How?”
“Suicide,” her mother barely moved, just a wisp of hair uncurling around her bony finger, so she could flip a glossy page.
Elizabeth could have fainted from one word. The blue tiles would have been hard, but it was harder to take in the weight of that statement. Mary-Kate, her closest friend from kindergarten to tenth grade had killed herself. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and Elizabeth could only nod slowly, take in the information, and start running.
Years of cross country prepared her for the long-distance sprint past the courthouse and down the backstretch that led to the Harris house. The walls were a faded cream color, and nobody had been around for upkeep in nearly fifteen years. Some gnarled shrubs and oak trees guarded the pathway to the old farmhouse that Elizabeth had spent hours exploring and playing in. The roses were drooping in the afternoon heat, but they seemed to perk up at the arrival of an old friend.
It was a familiar journey, the stroll to the front porch, but it only made her heart hurt. Nobody ran out to greet her or offer cookies. Mary-Kate was not there anymore to do so, Elizabeth reminded herself. The sunlight was too bright and her head too filled with questions, so she directed her gaze at the faded welcome mat five yards away.
Mrs. Harris, a plump-around-the-middle woman, was beautiful in the old days, she liked to remind guests. The house was filled to the brim with wedding albums and framed photos of her teenage self. Even without her wavy blonde hair, it was easy to notice the weary yet pretty facets of her. For instance, the crows feet perched beside her eyes did nothing to hide the beauty of her crystal orbs. Her legs had once paraded across town parties and fancy galas, but now, they were resigned to standing before the sink and washing dishes. Nonetheless, though her good looks had all but faded, Mrs. Harris was kind to all. However, many agreed she did a bit too much talking when they called upon her.
“Hello, love!” She would exclaim whenever Mary-Kate would drag Elizabeth home. “Lemme fix y’all some snacks. You like pie? I got apple an’ cherry. Mebbe a little peach cobbler.”
They would all gorge themselves upon delicious treats and watch television in the den. That was before high school, before elementary school when Mary-Kate still had space in her whirlwind life for Elizabeth. That was back when they wore their hair in pigtails and went to church on Sundays. That was when Mary-Kate did not sneak off in the middle of the night to go places she had no business going to. That was when Elizabeth was a best friend, not an afterthought.
This time, Elizabeth pushed the heavy door with paint chipping off until she had a clear view of the hallway. Nothing had changed since the last time she had seen it, a year ago. The carpet still had that one stain shaped like an elephant, and all the windows were shrouded by hideous brown curtains that Mary-Kate’s aunt had gifted them one Christmas. If she checked, Elizabeth was certain there would still be a crack in the wall behind the door that had been formed when she was eight, and the girls played baseball in the house.
She found Mrs. Harris in the Florida room, nursing a cup of honeyed tea.
“Oh, hello, darlin’. I ne’er saw you come in. Did you h-hear the news?” The woman almost broke down.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m really sorry to hear about...everything.”
“Jus’ her time, I suppose.”
Elizabeth forgot why she had come and felt out of place. It was almost frightening to see the woman she had looked up to as a mother so frail and listless.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Mrs. Harris pondered, “No, dear, I’m ‘fraid there ain’t. Well, maybe if you wanna go up t’ her room. There’s a couple boxes of things you can have. Her jewelry if you want it. That’s ’bout all.”
“Okay, I’ll be around if you need anything.”
The mahogany staircase was dark and smelled damp, but it was the gateway to Mary-Kate’s bedroom, the place the girls spent many a weekend curled in pink sheets, telling stories, and playing dolls. It was silly to come here, Elizabeth rolled her eyes when she ascended to the landing, Mary-Kate is dead, and nothing can prove otherwise.
“Do I even want her back?” She whispered, fiddling with her sleeve.
A hollow thud sounded when Elizabeth’s right foot hit the hardwood floors. Pushing the plain white door open, she flicked the light switch on, casting a pale yellow glow over the room.
Unlike the rest of the house, the bedroom was entirely different from last summer. The posters of celebrities had been replaced by beautiful paintings that Mary-Kate probably made herself. Every piece of furniture had been rearranged or was missing. The bed was perfectly made, as if a person had not inhabited it for sixteen years.
“Why’d you have to do this, Mary-Kate?” Elizabeth groaned, sliding to the carpeted ground.
The white jewelry box was still placed haphazardly beside the dresser, the latch broken and hanging lifelessly. She crawled forward to inspect the assortment inside. The first string she pulled belonged to a pearl necklace with a gold clasp that Elizabeth remembered gifting her for Christmas when they were ten. She had saved money and called in favors to buy the necklace, and it warmed her heart that her old friend had placed it at the top.
Her laptop was on the edge of the bed, white and adorned with stickers of glittery rainbows and funny phrases. Elizabeth held back a snort because it was so undeniably like Mary-Kate to decorate her computer.
In the corner, she noticed the medium sized trunk that had once held dolls, puzzles, and dress-up clothes. Elizabeth heaved the lid until she could see clearly inside. The first thing she found was a Little Mermaid doll with curly red hair and a tattered green tail. Around the left ankle, a slip of paper was tied with a ribbon. It read, “Look on the dresser. Under the shell.”
Elizabeth complied with the instructions, a tad confused, and inspected underneath the clam where she found another paper that asked her to name the date they met, add a zero, and type it in as the password to the laptop.
“July 26th, 2008,” she did not have to think since the day was also Mary-Kate’s birthday.
Eyes wide, Elizabeth wondered if this was a good idea. Mary-Kate was never a particularly private person, always reading her diary entries aloud as practice for school plays, but it felt wrong to look into her computer. No, Elizabeth, she told herself, Mary-Kate is dead, and maybe this will explain why did it. This could be a good thing for everyone, just do it.
With a little hesitance, she sat cross legged on the cotton candy blue bedspread and opened the laptop. Slowly typing in the code, 726080, Elizabeth waited for the loading symbol to disappear. The wallpaper popped up a second later, a beautiful sunset shot through a greenhouse roof, but that was not what caught her eye first. Instead, she was drawn to the only folder available that was labeled For Elizabeth Mae.
“You’ve done it now.” Elizabeth slammed her forehead into her hand. “You messed up. Now you have to click on it, great job.”
She closed her eyes briefly to prepare for whatever her old friend had in store before clicking on the icon.
“Hey, Lizzie.” The video Mary-Kate took a deep breath. “You’re watching this because I’m dead. There’s no way a-around that, so I’ll just say it now. I’m sorry I treated you so badly for the last year, and I can’t make up for that. But I know how much you like Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie so why don’t we play one last game?”
The screen went blank, and all Elizabeth saw was herself. She searched her features, her furrowed brows, chapped lips, puffy, sorrowful eyes, and high cheekbones, and pretended to know what Mary-Kate meant. Surely the girl had not killed herself for a simple apology or a child’s game. One last game, she thought, what could that possibly mean? And was she ready to play?
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Title: Love, Mary-Kate
Author Pseudonym: S.E. Noelle
Genre: YA fiction, mystery
Age Range: 12-28
Target Audience: young people
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- This project deals with mental health and grief. Readers will see parts of themselves in a wide selection of characters and be able to relate to them while also becoming enthralled by the plot.
- Elizabeth is determined to solve the supposed suicide of her former best friend, Mary-Kate. To do so, she will uncover deep secrets about the town of Belmont. She follows a trail of video messages, letters, and emails that leads her from Kentucky to New York City and back to rural Virginia. She has one question, does anyone really know who Mary-Kate was?
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About me:
My name is Sadie. I live in Virginia and enjoy reading, writing, painting, and solving puzzles. I will be attending school as a ninth grader this fall. In the past four years, I have won five creative writing contests, three essay contests, and was named seventh grade valedictorian. When I write, I am enthusiastic and dedeicated to finsihing. My style is influenced by poetry and mythology, but I mostly take inspiration from the classics.