Please Don't Tell

by Laura Tims

  He blinks his uninjured eye. “I think it was . . . everyone left, right before I passed out in the kitchen. I saw them before that—”

  “Them?”

  “Joy . . . and Adam.”

  All my blood jumps. “What were they doing? Where did they go?”

  He’s staring at me with a horrible apology in his eyes.

  “Tell me where they are,” I shout.

  “They went into the woods . . . I think they were going down to the quarry.”

  The quarry that I almost fell into. What if Joy falls this time and I’m not there to catch her?

  What if Adam pushes her?

  “Why didn’t you stop them?” I choke.

  “I’m sorry!”

  I sprint out the door, into the woods again. He follows me. All the times people’ve walked through the woods to the quarry, and no path has ever formed. You have to fight through branches every time.

  If I can get there in thirty-three steps, nothing will happen to Joy.

  “Let me talk to you,” Cassius pleads in the dark. His steps are loud, crashing. It makes it impossible to count mine. “Please. I need to.”

  I don’t care about what he needs. I care about my sister.

  “Please, Grace.”

  I keep running, branches cracking under my feet. We’re almost to the quarry. I can see it through the trees. And the sky, a dim bruised blue. The kind of night that has sun in it, but it’s so faint you can barely tell the difference. All you know is that the light’s coming. And it’s going to show exactly what was in the dark.

  Joy’s voice slices through the trees, high and hysterical: “You raped my sister!”

  My feet stick to the earth. I never gave her that word to use.

  Cassius stops behind me, in shadows. I see Joy’s silhouette wavering through the branches. She’s barely upright. Adam is standing between her and the edge.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” There’s a drunken edge to his voice.

  “You know what I’m talking about!” She’s blind drunk angry. Her pressure gauge is almost full.

  Am I going to find out what she’s capable of?

  “Is this why you dragged me down here, some bullshit accusation?” Adam says.

  Am I going to find out how much she loves me?

  “You girls love to stir up drama,” he slurs. “Like I was telling Cas, she called me, she probably felt like a slut and decided to cry rape. Prude like her. Her type, they say no because that’s what gets them off. It turns them on. I was doing her a favor. People like her are easy as fuck to read.”

  I’m no longer ice. I am fire. Finally Joy and I can burn up at the same time.

  “How can you . . .” But Joy is crying. She’s not fine, not now. “How are you like this?”

  “Chill the fuck out,” he says, disgusted. “She had a crush on me, so I was nice to her because I’m a good guy. Usually I stick to hotter girls.” He steps closer to her. “I would’ve gone for you—you actually have a personality. But I left you for Cas because he’s such a charity case. He needs someone to take the reins, like your sister does. Those two never would have gotten anywhere. But you and I are the same. We go for what we want.”

  “Fuck you.” It sounds small and sick and pointless.

  “Is that what you want, why you made me come down here?” he asks, smirking. “Does this turn you on? You want me to ‘rape’ you, too? You and your sister, you’re both repressed fucking freaks, you know that?”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Cassius whispers hoarsely behind me.

  Everyone says that.

  But nobody does it.

  Adam will live a nice, long life not ever believing he did something wrong. He’s going to play music and party and rape other girls and teach his kids to be like him. He’s going to spread through the world like a sickness.

  Normal people can’t kill other people. But I’m not normal. I never have been.

  Maybe that’s my value. I could make the world safer for everyone else.

  I could be worth something again.

  “Stay away from me,” Joy sobs, bringing me back.

  “Get over yourself. Spend your time on something that matters. Look up.” Adam waves an arm at the fading stars. The effort unbalances him. “We are so small, don’t you realize? All this, this doesn’t matter. It’s petty, not worth it.”

  I wanted November to kill him for me. Then I wanted Joy to do it. Some part of me always knew it was the only answer. The true secret shortcut to being okay.

  Maybe I’m the only one with any perspective. But I’m the only one who can do it. I’ll only be okay if it’s me.

  He’s so close to the edge of the quarry. Unsteady. So close. One push. One easy fix left.

  If I jump out of the trees, right now, and do it—

  It’ll be like he never raped me.

  “We’ll go to the police unless . . . you leave,” I hear Joy mumble.

  “Yeah. Sure. Sayonara.” He laughs, like I knew he would.

  “You.” She shivers, totally weaponless, grasping. “You . . . I’ll . . .”

  She doesn’t love me enough to do it. That’s fine. If she did, I realize now, my last hope would be lost. I’d be in the cage forever.

  I’m the one who needs to do it.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” he mimics. “Believe whatever you want to make you feel like you had an interesting day. You and your sister, you’re both crazy bitches. Clearly getting laid did not help like I thought it would.”

  My fury expands and then contracts, slamming together into a hard ball of cold iron. It fits inside me. It fits right in my chest. I forget about Cassius, about my sister, about everything. This is the moment. Before and after.

  I was always capable of this.

  But before I can do anything, there’s a movement by the quarry. Joy lurches forward. She slaps at him uselessly. She shoves him a little. I freeze, but she’s not trying. She’s just drunk.

  He stumbles back, his foot scraping the edge, but he’s laughing. Neither of them seem aware that they’re on the edge of oblivion.

  I’m quivering, stuck. I can’t push him when she’s so close. She could fall.

  “What are you trying to accomplish?” he snorts. “You know you’re the only reason I hooked up with your sister, right? You practically threw her at me. Mainly I fucked her because you seemed to want me to do it so bad.”

  No. Don’t say that to her. Don’t say that.

  Joy makes a strangled noise and shoves him again. It’s a frail motion. It barely affects him. He’s still smirking. All it does is make him take a tiny step back.

  Except there isn’t anything left to step back onto.

  I can just barely see his face, in the bit of light bleeding into the sky. His expression contorts with a stupid bewilderment. His arms swing forward, groping for my sister, but she jolts back. She doesn’t grab him like she grabbed me.

  And then he drops out of sight.

  The sounds of the crack and Cassius screaming thinly mixes with the rattle of the trees in the sudden wind, canceling each other out until my ears ring with silence.

  The quiet, hungry growl of the quarry vanishes from the back of my head.

  I leave the trees, walk up to the edge, and look down.

  He’s motionless, spread-eagled on the flat rock. His face is turned sideways, in shadow. A black stain pools beneath his head. It spreads slowly, the darkness eating up the stone.

  “Jesus, oh Jesus . . .” Cassius is stammering from the edge of the woods.

  The stain keeps moving.

  But Adam doesn’t.

  “Grace?” I hear Joy mumble. I turn just as she sits down hard in the dust. Her eyes are unfocused, her mouth hangs open. The sharp smell of alcohol slaps me.

  Something horrible settles inside me, along with a strange calm.

  I look back into the quarry, but he’s not there anymore, even if his body is. He’s gone somewhere else. He’s the new weig
ht inside me.

  She stole my only chance.

  “Please don’t tell, Grace.” Tears leak down her face.

  Because of her, I’ll be like this forever.

  “Grace . . .” She’s barely conscious.

  You practically threw her at me.

  I wasn’t afraid when I was running through the woods, I wasn’t afraid when I saw them at the edge—but I’m afraid now.

  What if I hate her forever?

  “The police.” Cassius finally looked over the edge. He’s gasping. “We have to call . . .” He fumbles with his phone, drops it. I pick it up.

  “It was an accident,” I say robotically.

  “What?”

  “He was drunk and he fell in. Everyone’s always saying how somebody was going to fall in.”

  “You . . .”

  “She didn’t mean for him to fall. You saw it. She wasn’t thinking.” I don’t know why I’m protecting her. Because of her . . . “If you don’t tell anyone, I’ll forgive you for that night.”

  His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  “It’s not that hard, not saying something.” Come on, Cassius.

  “I’m . . .”

  “For me,” I say.

  “I . . .” He won’t look at Joy. “I . . . okay.”

  “Do you promise?”

  He’s sobbing. “Y—yes.”

  I move to give him back his phone. Then I notice a tiny green light above the screen, next to the camera.

  “Is that recording?” I hear myself say.

  “Adam wanted me . . . to film his birthday party.” He digs his fingers unfeelingly into the front of his own shirt.

  Joy mumbles something incoherent.

  Before I delete the video, I hesitate. I highlight the last few minutes and email the file to myself.

  Just in case.

  “I need you to help me get her home,” I say.

  Joy’s head tips forward onto her chest and then back up again. “You sound so mad,” she slurs. “Are you mad at me, Grace?”

  Then she leans forward and vomits.

  She won’t remember any of this.

  “You’re dreaming,” I tell her. “We’re going home.”

  Cassius doesn’t say anything. And he won’t. I’ll make sure.

  It’s not that hard, not saying something.

  TWENTY-ONE

  October 30

  Joy

  I LIE RIGID UNTIL THE SKY CHANGES COLORS. Sunset. Sunrise. The broken-off shadow of the severed tree branch moves over me and across the room. There’s a new stain on my sheets. My wrist is bleeding. There’s red on my fingernails.

  Then Mom’s in my doorway. Somehow it’s the next morning. I haven’t moved since I watched the video. I tell her I’m fine in an even voice. But she asks if I’m still sick.

  “You don’t sound—” She frowns. “Maybe you should get more sleep.”

  I can’t.

  I have to meet Levi.

  I have to tell him what I did.

  Levi’s Tupperware of soup is still on my bedside table. I forgot to refrigerate it. I’ll have to throw it away.

  I shower, drown in steam, scrub, shave, pluck, blow-dry. Nails—wash off the red. New red, painted on. Band-Aid on my wrist. Makeup. Foundation, powder, kohl, until my eyes pop from pools of black. Hair straightened. Lipstick. Clothes.

  If I look human, nobody will know. There’s nothing inside me. I’ve emptied out. I don’t want anything to do with the girl I was or what she did. I’m glad she’s gone.

  I set myself step-by-step plans: Go downstairs. Walk downtown. Tell Levi I killed his half brother.

  Words don’t have to mean anything if I don’t let them.

  Nothing has to mean anything if I don’t let it.

  “Joy,” Dad yells. “Breakfast!”

  My sister’s door is closed. She’s asleep. She always sleeps so late.

  She knew.

  Dad chokes on his orange juice when I walk into the kitchen.

  “I have a date,” I hear myself say. My chin quivers stupidly.

  “You look beautiful.” Mom glares at Dad. “You could just use a little blending. Can I help?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  She brings me to the bathroom and pulls out tissue after tissue, dabs and rubs until my face looks real again. What would she do, if I punched the mirror and it shattered?

  “I’m not used to you with straight hair. You look like your sister.” She lifts the edges of my hair. “Who’s the date with? That boy who’s been tutoring you? I know. I know what it would take to get Joy Morris to spend an extra instant on American History.”

  I’m glad she knows me. I’m glad she has a version of me to hold on to. She deserves her.

  She looks at our faces next to each other in the mirror. “The bad thing about you girls being twins is that nobody tells me you look like me. The only thing anybody says is how you look like each other. Sometimes it feels like you brought each other into the world and I was only marginally involved.”

  She laughs, then points at my reflection’s forehead. “Oh, but see that little mole right by your temple? I have one by my ear. Family moles.”

  I don’t know why she’s talking so much, for once. Maybe she senses something.

  “I was always looking for evidence of myself in my sister. I made her compare our big toes once, to see if we both had that wonky nail. I could never figure out if we had anything in common.”

  “Mmm,” I say.

  “You and your sister, you’ve never had to do that. You’ve always been the same.”

  No. My sister isn’t capable of the same things I am.

  But if the blackmailer isn’t Cassius, and the email came right after she found out about Levi . . .

  Shut down. Turn off. Don’t look. Nothing’s there.

  I need to tell Levi the truth anyway. I need to scare him so badly he won’t try to stay in contact with me once he moves. He’ll stay in Indiana. Stay safe.

  Mom’s waiting. But I can’t find anything to offer her.

  “All right. I get it. ‘Stop rambling, Mom.’” She sighs, disappointed. “I’ll give you a ride wherever you need to go.”

  She drops me off at the fair.

  They have it every year in the middle school field, the one where we got high. I’ve come here, almost every year, with my sister. Booths are arranged on the field, blazing white against the grass that’s still green, despite the cold air. The air smells like onion rings. Everyone’s dressed up. Monsters and mummies and ghosts. You can’t see anyone’s face.

  I stand by the ticket booth until he finds me.

  He lights up when he sees me, that sudden bright smile. He’s freshly shaven, his clothes ironed, a scarf around his neck. There’s a scabby bruise on his forehead.

  I lose control, just for a second, but then I win it back.

  “I love the costume,” he says, jogging toward me.

  “My costume?” His face is so open and good. He is so good.

  “You’re Grace, right?”

  I killed your half brother.

  “I considered dressing up,” he says. “But then I was like, what if we take a selfie, and it’s the only picture we have together, and months later you think about flying out to visit me, and then you look at that picture and you’re like, I am not dropping ticket fare on some asshole who can’t even pull off a David Bowie wig.”

  He never had to be Adam’s Levi. He’s Levi’s Levi, all the way.

  “Hey.” He takes my hand. “You okay?”

  “Just tired. A little sick.”

  Tired. Sick. The best ways to explain everything away.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asks worriedly. “Maybe you should be in bed. You can rest, I’ll pick up some medicine and juice and whatever. Are you a movie person or a book person when you’re sick? I can go to the library.”

  I pushed your half brother into a quarry.

  I pushed your half brother, and he fell i
nto a quarry.

  How different are those sentences?

  It doesn’t matter. The end result is the same. And it starts with I pushed.

  “Sorry.” He blushes. “Mom Levi makes a stunning appearance.”

  “I’m fine. How’s your forehead?” I structure the words, syllable by syllable, building them, little houses of normality that we can live in.

  “My forehead’s fine. I got it checked out.”

  “Good,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”

  I want him to have a nice day before I tell him.

  I spend as much money as I can—tickets to the pumpkin race, hot cider, rides. He tries to pay for things but I won’t let him. I focus all my energy on being normal. Normal is delicate.

  Levi makes all his usual jokes, but he’s distracted today. He keeps starting to say something and then cutting himself off, muttering idiot under his breath.

  Once I catch him looking at me sideways, a lingering gaze, and even though I pretend I don’t see it, there’s so much warmth that I feel it. But that warmth isn’t for me. It’s for Levi’s Joy, his imaginary girl. All I’m doing is stealing a taste of what would be hers.

  Eventually he stops me by the craft booths. He’s sweating. “Joy, listen—”

  “Oh, hello, Grace!” a woman calls.

  Is she here? I twist to look, but instead I trip backward and shear the skin off my elbow on a stone somebody used to reinforce one of the craft booth poles.

  “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry. It’s Joy, of course, isn’t it? The hair threw me off.” It’s our sixth-grade teacher, Ms. H something, standing beside the craft booth filled with mountains of identical crocheted dolls.

  She’s not here.

  “I always do like seeing you and your sister. You two were never trouble like other twins. You never switched places,” Ms. H. chatters, oblivious to my bleeding elbow. “We had a little joke in the staff room—the one with her mouth open is Joy, the one with her mouth closed is Grace.”

  Blood’s darker on stone.

  “Oh dear.” Ms. H. peers over the dolls. “Are you all right?”

  Levi pulls off his scarf and wraps it around my elbow. I stare at the dark spot I left on the rock.

  “Did you hear me? Joy?” he says.

  I struggle upright, draw him away from Ms. H.’s booth. “What do you want to do now? Let’s go get caramel apples. Do you want anything else? I’ve got a lot of money left.”