The Girl with the Mermaid Hair by Delia Ephron

bumper stumper,” her mom announced as they drove to the school.
    “What’s that?” asked Sukie.
    “Oh, you know, a mini-accident. I rear-ended someone and banged my nose on the steering wheel.”
    “I already told them something,” said Sukie. “I meant to mention.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I said you had a spa accident.”
    Her dad burst out laughing.
    From the back, Sukie saw her mom turn her head and shoulders stiffly toward him. “What’s funny about that?”
    Her father shrugged.
    “I said you dove into the shallow end so, I mean, if anyone says they’re sorry about the accident, you’ll know.”
    “For sure,” said her dad.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” said her mom.
    “Don’t,” Sukie blurted.
    “Don’t what?” asked her mom.
    Have a fight, Sukie was thinking, but she knew to shut up.
    “Darling, is something on your mind?” Darling was not darling. Darling was the opposite of darling. Darling was a dagger thrust between the ribs.
    “Lay off her,” Sukie’s dad said mildly.
    “You two are in it together,” said Sukie’s mom. “Am I right?”
    No one bit on that.
    Her dad pulled into the right lane to join the slow-moving line of cars entering the school lot. A funeral procession, thought Sukie. I’m on a trip to my own grave.

Cobweb
    T HE funeral idea took root. By the time they’d parked and her mother had fluttered waves to several other parents, Sukie had decided to play corpse for the evening. I possess no feelings, she told herself. Pain nor pleasure, hurt nor joy. I am beyond all mundane earthly emotions, and while present am absent.
    She had dawdled, letting her parents and Mikey go ahead. Her mother had fussed about not having a pad and pen, fumbling through the messy glove compartment. “What’s this?” she’d said, holding up a DVD receipt. “ The Other Boleyn Girl ? Who watched that?”
    Her dad, who would normally be striding aboutglad-handing, waited by the open car door, pointed to the brightly lit cafeteria, and said only, “I guess that’s where we go.” They set off on their mission to get their daughter into the best possible college, strung so tight that they didn’t notice that the object of their concern, Sukie, wasn’t with them.
    Face dulling was called for. A slack jaw, limp cheeks, loose lips, shallow breathing. Only enough air to sustain motion must enter system. She felt like Mikey, making up robot rules, only hers were for the walking dead. Alone in the backseat she experimented on the front-seat headrest. “Orbs aslumber,” she intoned. Soon, without being closed, her eyes lost focus. The headrest was no longer a headrest but an identity-less padded object.
    She took a selfie and studied it. Did she look dead or merely stunned (as if someone had tapped her lightly with a mallet)? She couldn’t tell, because the photo was too dark. She was cloaked in shadow. There is a zombie truth, she thought, and I am it.
    She stepped out of the car.
    A sparring wind slapped her pants and blew open her pea coat. She struggled to button it and keep the collar turned up chicly. “Wind, you can’t defeat me,”she whispered. “Cold, you fool, I am beyond shivering.” She might be channeling Ophelia and Shakespeare’s way with words. Maybe. For sure. For sure maybe. She aimed for grace. She would be a beautiful and arresting corpse. No. She would be a nomadic angel—that had more allure. In the midst of classmates and their parents, she observed without connecting. The role suited her because Sukie often had to pretend that she was actually a part of things. Attaching herself to existing groups, she commented, laughed along with everyone else. If I leave, no one notices or cares, she had noted in her journal. No one goes “Oh, God, no, where’s Sukie?” Tonight she would enjoy her invisibility. Choose it rather than have it be her fate.
    The parents conversed in hushed tones, and she could hear Mr. Vickers’s