Long Live the Queen

Prologue: In The Beginning

Dear Diary,
Maia's funeral was on Sunday. It was a grand sort of affair. Lots of touching speeches and meaningful pictures and cheerleaders sobbing until mascara ran down their faces. I think David cried more than I did; he and Maia had been really close towards the end. Out of everyone that went, besides her parents, I think he had the right to cry the most. Well... I might just be saying that. I don't really know anymore.
I should be mourning. Everybody else is. You'd think that the president died or something, the way we're all carrying on over the death of our beloved prom queen. Everybody has something to carry on about when it comes to her death. Well, everybody except for me. I feel like I should be carrying on but I can't bring myself to do it. The tears won't fall, there's no anger and no regret and no kneeling on the floor wailing and tearing my hair out because she's dead.
A lot of the people who are crying and carrying on didn't really know her too well. It's kind of like grief by association. They passed her by in the hallways and admired her from afar and hated her behind closed doors but as soon as she's gone, they're crying out about the injustice of it all. Maybe it's just because of how it happened. Suicide turns many people into martyrs, even those who don't want to be one.
I didn't know her like that. We weren't best friends but the girl I knew wouldn't have wanted to be a martyr. Or maybe she would've, I don't know anymore. I thought I knew her but I realized today that I really didn't. I mean, what was I to her? Her study buddy? Her tutor? Another girl she could make jealous because of how perfect she was compared to everyone else? I'm not sure anymore but at least I know what she was to me. She was my friend and I cared about her but that still doesn't give me the right to grieve.
There's nothing to grieve about, anyway. There's nothing to cry and carry on about now. I know that sounds horrible but it's not, believe me. I know that you're supposed to mourn when somebody dies and that's why there's really nothing for me to cry about now. Others have the right to grieve but I don't because of one simple error in this whole ordeal.
Maia DeRosa is not dead.
I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I told Sunny and David that she wasn't dead, but they didn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me either, if I were them. But I know what I saw. I know what I saw last night and I know that what I saw was Maia, very much alive. I thought I was imagining it, but nobody else would have known where to meet me. Especially that late at night. It was her spot. Nobody else could've found it.
I'd gone there to pray for her and instead, I found myself face to face with a dead girl walking. She'd laughed when I called her that but it wasn't funny. Actually, it might've been. A twisted, peculiar kind of funny but amusing nonetheless. I almost fell when I saw her but she caught my arm and kept me from tumbling into the water. The last time I'd stumbled on the edge, she'd let me fall in. I had been expecting her to let go of me but she didn't.
I don't believe in ghosts. She wasn't a ghost because ghosts aren't real. I know what I saw. I saw Maia. Eyes wide and dark, mouth twisted into a small smirk. She was wearing white like she wanted to stand out in the night instead of blend into it like I did. I could smell her perfume, that overly sugary kind of perfume that makes your nose itch when you breathe too much of it. I heard her laugh when she pulled me away from the water like it was some sort of kindness. I know what I saw last night.
I can't tell Ingrid. I want to, I really do. But I can't tell my sister anything. That would mean confessing that I snuck out of the house, that I regularly take off in the middle of the night while she sleeps. She'd never trust me again and if I don't have Ingrid's trust, I won't have anything. She's my best friend as well as my sister. If I lose Ingrid... Well, she's all I have most of the time.
She needs me more than I need her and I'm the only one who seems to know it. Ingrid might be my older sister but I've been the one keeping us together for years. If something happens to me, she's lost. I can't put her through that. It shouldn't be my job to protect her but I know that's what I need to do. My world is so much darker than she realizes but if I can light up hers just by keeping myself together, I'll do it.
Besides, I can't tell her what happened. I can't risk telling her what I learned from the ghost that slipped away into the night with just a warning and a wave goodbye. She wouldn't understand. I'm not even sure that I understand. The others didn't believe me because I sound like a lunatic. That's why I almost hope - I almost pray with all my heart - that what I saw last night wasn't real. If it means that Maia is really dead, so be it. As much as I want to hope that I didn't imagine her, it might be for the best if I did.
There are so many things I want to say but I can't find the guts to put them down on paper. All of this is so confusing I just want to close my eyes and pretend that it doesn't exist. I've always been good at that. Ingrid sometimes says that I'm childish but that's not it. I'm not childish. I just don't want to believe in the evil that I know exists in this world. If I close my eyes and wish her away, will Maia DeRosa still come back to finish her puzzling story? I hope not.
Ingrid is at the store now. I find that I only write in here when she's gone. It's not that I don't want her to read what I'm writing - well, actually, it is that. She wouldn't understand and it's okay because I don't want her to. She's my sister and I love her but everyone is entitled to their secrets. Mine are all here, written in purple pen between the lines of a little black book. Ingrid hasn't kept a diary in years; she stopped when Dana found it and recommended us to therapy to deal with "abandonment issues" because of it.
Speaking of Dana, I think that's her at the door. I should probably go get it. She's always forgetting stuff here when she leaves for work. It's quite pathetic. Her house keys are still on the counter so if I pretend that I can't hear her, she won't be able to come inside. Or I could do the nice thing and just open it for her. I should probably do that. Then she can leave and I can wait for Ingrid to come back with groceries and I can finish writing down what Maia said before my brain sullies the memory too much. I'll be back shortly.
Love,
Lindsey