The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly

by Meredith Tate

  “He’s not my brother,” I mutter.

  Dad rubs his forehead.

  My phone buzzes.

  Patrick: It’s all right. You know what’s weird? He’s talking to my mom again. He follows it up with a second text, of the boy-shrugging emoji.

  Whoa, I write back. Must be the apocalypse or something.

  He responds, It’s clearly the only explanation.

  “Purdue’s getting raped!”

  “Touchdown scored by Spartans junior Chris Pike.”

  Kathy sniffles. “That’s my boy.”

  I swear my ears are twitching.

  “We hired a new mechanic this week,” Dad says, in a futile attempt to break the tension.

  “Oh, that’s cool.” I pull another pepperoni off my pizza.

  “We’re hoping he can take on some of the work so I won’t have to stay late as much.”

  “That’d be good.”

  “I’m hoping after this weekend, I won’t have to work Saturday nights anymore.”

  “You’re working tonight? Seriously?”

  “We’ve got bills, Ivy. Think about that when you take those half-hour showers. All that hot water someone’s got to pay for.”

  I roll my eyes. I do not take half-hour showers. Maybe twenty minutes, when I shave my legs.

  Well, that was short lived, Patrick says. They’re arguing about Will now. Just saw Dad kick Mom’s car tire in the driveway. He sends me an eye-roll face.

  Yes, I am so, so glad Patrick didn’t take after his parents. I text him the wide-eyed-face emoji. Sorry. That sucks. I’m here if you wanna talk.

  Not gonna lie, I kind of love how easily we’ve fallen back into our friendship. It always felt effortless when we were kids. I’m glad some things never change.

  “Purdue’s getting raped!”

  “Touchdown scored by Spartans junior Chris Pike.”

  “That’s my—”

  I slam my hand on the table. “Okay, can you not?”

  Kathy and Dad both jerk their heads up at my outburst.

  “Purdue’s getting raped?” It’s even more vile when I say it out loud. “Does he even know what rape is?”

  Kathy’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “I know, it’s vulgar. Those college boys just don’t understand the—”

  “No. That’s a shitty excuse. If they’re old enough to vote, they’re old enough to know what rape is. They can’t just throw that word around like it’s nothing.”

  A veil of silence descends over the room. I blink. Holy shit. I’ve never yelled at Kathy before. Guilt tunnels through me.

  Dad pushes his chair back from the table. “I have to get ready for work.” His footsteps thump into the living room, getting softer as he clomps up the stairs. With a light thud, his bedroom door shuts. Shit. I probably shouldn’t have done that. Dad hates conflict between Kathy and us, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t want to take sides. Sometimes I can’t help wishing he’d take mine. Ever since Mom died, it’s like the floors are made of eggshells rather than carpet and wood.

  I prop my forehead up with my hands. “I’m sorry.”

  Kathy gives me a guilty look. “No, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll watch the game in the other room.”

  “It’s fine.” I force a smile. “I’m going out anyway.” And I can’t get out of this kitchen fast enough.

  The moment I’m out of the room, the cheering football crowd recommences. I clench my teeth and go upstairs to touch up my mascara.

  Dad’s bedroom door is still closed. I swallow the guilty lump in my throat and tiptoe past his room to the bathroom.

  I can’t stop thinking about that douche at Chris’s football game. And Autumn. And yelling at Kathy. And Dad avoiding everything.

  And the cops, and reindeer pajamas, and . . . I don’t even know. I rub my temples, wishing she would just come home or call us or something so I could stop freaking out.

  I dig into my purse and find Autumn’s phone, entering Mom’s birthday to unlock it. I open my sister’s texts, but this time I go straight past the ones about meeting in the lot.

  Okay, here’s something. Before Autumn met that guy, she was texting with “Abby N.” I scroll through their messages, and of course, they’re talking about some guy they know who went to jail. Autumn’s friends with some real winners.

  I pull out last year’s yearbook and flip to the juniors’ Ns. Abigail Nelson stares back at me, a fan of wavy brown hair framing her pale face. She looks about my size, with a nose stud, dimples, and a nice smile. I think I’ve seen her walking around with Autumn at school before.

  Screw it.

  I text her from Autumn’s phone, Hey is this Abby Nelson? This is Autumn Casterly’s sister, Ivy. I’m worried about her. Can you text me back?

  I stare at the screen for a good two minutes waiting for those little dots to appear, but they don’t. My resolve deflates slightly.

  There has to be someone else I can message. I click back into her main texts and scroll past Abby N. I do a double take at the name directly beneath hers—Hailey Waters. That’s weird. Autumn texted Hailey on Thursday evening, several hours after she asked me if I knew her in the driveway. I swallow hard and click the message.

  Autumn: How’s Owen?

  I read it once, twice, three times. That’s it. That’s the only message between Hailey and Autumn. My brow creases. Who’s Owen? It’s weird Hailey didn’t respond, especially since it’s marked as Seen. Mr. Warner has taken her phone away, like, four different times during band in the past month. She replies to everything. Except, apparently, this.

  Hailey’s so sweet, I can’t imagine her having beef with Autumn. I mean, she goes out of her way to keep cough drops and tampons in her bag, just in case someone needs them. The low-brass line calls her their “section mom,” and it’s a fitting nickname.

  The pepperonis turn to rocks in my stomach. I really, really hope Hailey has nothing to do with this.

  I need answers. But I’m not getting any until Abby responds to me—if she ever does.

  I watch the screen, waiting, while doing my makeup. I’m not the best at makeup, but I’ve watched a bunch of YouTube tutorials, and I can do a really awesome smoky eye now. It makes my blue eyes pop. Whenever I take the time to do it properly, I take a bunch of selfies but then get too scared to post them. Sometimes I Snapchat them to Soph and Alexa. One time I accidentally sent a duckface selfie with a silly Halloween filter to Jason’s mom, and I pretty much wanted to die. She was cool about it, though.

  My phone buzzes, and I nearly impale myself with my mascara wand. Holy shit. Not cool.

  What are you wearing tonight? Alexa asks the group chat.

  Black jeggings and that blue top you like, Sophie responds, with a wink face.

  Oh, that’s hot, Alexa replies.

  TMI. Omg, my eyes. Open a separate chat before you start full-on sexting, please.

  Sorry, Ivy! Sophie replies with the embarrassed face. Forgot this was the group chat.

  I roll my eyes and quickly add, I’m wearing jeans and that sweater with the anchor on it.

  It’s weird when two people in a friend group start dating each other. It throws off the whole balance. Sophie, Alexa, and I always had our little group separate from the Nerd Herd, and now it’s like they’ve got their own group, and then there’s good ol’ tricycle wheel Ivy, clinging on. Which is apparently my role in the dating world these days. Next time, it’ll be Jason who gets a girlfriend.

  No. If he got a girlfriend, nothing would change. We’d still be best friends; we just wouldn’t go to homecoming together.

  I huff, throwing the mascara back into my makeup bag.

  He’d start bringing her to Nerd Herd meetings, and that’d be weird.

  He wouldn’t text me in the middle of the nig
ht anymore, because he’d text her instead.

  It wouldn’t all be bad. Maybe I’d start dating Patrick, and we could go on double dates.

  A surge of jealousy revs to life inside me, and it’s so petty and ridiculous, I can’t stand it. I make an annoyed face at myself in the mirror. His so-called girlfriend doesn’t even exist. And besides, I have a crush on Patrick.

  I put on my silver eyeliner a little too aggressively and totally screw it up and get it all under my eye. I sigh, pulling out my box of makeup remover wipes.

  I have to get used to the idea. He’s already hooked up with a bunch of girls. There was one at camp two summers ago, one at church last year, another he met at the Y. And probably loads more I don’t know about. It really sucks when guys always tell you about their hookups but never want to hook up with you.

  I finally bat the thoughts out of my head and go downstairs to wait for Jason to pick me up, sliding Autumn’s phone into my back pocket. Kathy left the pizza box on the counter. I stuff the two remaining slices into Tupperware and pretty much play Tetris trying to fit them in the fridge.

  I’m outside, Jason texts.

  Then the other phone in my pocket buzzes and I nearly jump a foot in the air.

  Abby: Is Autumn ok?? What happened?

  I bite my lip. What should I tell her? How do I know I can even trust her? Okay, it’s risky, but Alexander Hamilton told me not to throw away my shot, so here I go.

  Me: I haven’t heard from her since yesterday morning. Do you have any idea where she went?

  Abby: Not a clue. She hasn’t told me anything.

  Me: She goes away overnight sometimes. Do you know where she goes?

  Abby: She does?? I didn’t know that

  Shit. I always assumed Autumn was partying with her friends or sleeping with guys when she ran away. Obviously, she wouldn’t tell me, but I’d have thought she’d tell her friends. But if this girl Abby doesn’t know, maybe she and Autumn aren’t actually that close after all.

  Abby: Have you messaged Liam?

  Me: Who’s Liam?

  Abby: Um. This creep Autumn hangs out with.

  Okay, this definitely does not sound promising.

  Me: Who is he though?

  I rotate the phone in my hands, praying she won’t think I’m being too nosy.

  Abby: Idk how to describe him. Autumn’s . . . friend? Dealer? Supplier?

  I love how casually she admits he’s a dealer. It’s like she’s announcing he’s a dermatologist or the guy who cuts her hair.

  Abby: He just got arrested for breaking into the corner store though and last I heard Autumn was pretty pissed at him.

  The cops mentioned a burglary, and said Autumn had been texting the thief. It has to be him.

  Me: She never came home and I’m super worried. Can you help me find her?

  Abby: I ALWAYS thought Liam was sketchy. I’ll do anything you need.

  Me: Any idea where to start?

  Abby: She goes to Liam’s house a lot, and that place is a cesspool. I’d look there.

  That doesn’t give me much confidence.

  Me: Where’s the house?

  Abby: Fisherville Road. That place is seriously shady.

  Me: Do you think she’s there?

  Abby: Maybe?

  The cops told me to butt out. But last time I spoke with them, it got me nowhere.

  I hope Abby’s not lying about the I’ll do anything part, because I’m getting a terrible idea.

  Against my better judgment, I reopen the group chat with Alexa and Sophie.

  Remember when we tried to dress as ninja turtles for costume day in eighth grade and they wouldn’t let us wear the masks in school?

  I anxiously pass the phone back and forth between my hands, ignoring Jason’s texts rushing me and immediately regretting this plan.

  LOL, of course, Sophie says. I’m still mad they wouldn’t let us wear them.

  I take a deep breath and type back. Well good, because we now have the perfect opportunity! Bring the masks. We have a top secret mission to complete tonight.

  AUTUMN

  My knee bounces against my hand. With each passing second, I’m closer to slipping into darkness. And I’m stuck sitting in a diner with Ivy and her annoying friends.

  All six of them are crammed into this tiny Friendly’s booth meant for four people. The guys are on one side and the girls are on the other like they’re in middle school.

  This place smells like french fries and grilled cheese and it’s making my stomach growl. There’re so many weird things that pop into your head when you’re dying. Like, what if I never eat another grilled cheese?

  “I don’t know what I want.” The girl with the short black hair and glasses has spent the last century staring at the menu. She’s half sitting in her girlfriend’s lap.

  “Hurry up,” I groan. The sooner we order, the sooner we leave, and the sooner Ivy can get over to Liam’s house, and that’s one step closer to finding me. I hope.

  I keep trying to convince myself that Ivy’s plan is a good one, that just because Liam is in jail doesn’t mean his friends weren’t involved. I mean, maybe there is a clue at his house. But it feels like we’re grasping at straws. Liam’s friends are like stoned sheep, following their shepherd—and currently their shepherd is behind bars. Plus, I’ve seen every corner of Liam’s house, and there’s no tiny wooden room anywhere. I really hope this whole thing is worthwhile and Ivy doesn’t end up arrested.

  “Alexa,” Ahmed says, “what should Sophie get to eat?”

  The purple-haired girl shrugs, midtext. “I don’t know. Whatever she feels like.”

  Jason and Kevin snicker.

  Sophie ignores them. “I can’t decide between the strawberry sundae and the Reese’s Pieces sundae.”

  “Alexa,” Ahmed says again. “Should Sophie order the strawberry sundae or the Reese’s Pieces sundae?”

  Alexa lowers her brows. “Why are you talking to me like that?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s that Amazon thing,” I mutter, even though no one can hear me.

  Jason and Kevin fall over themselves laughing.

  Ivy rolls her eyes and slaps down her menu. “Wow, did you make that joke up all by yourselves?”

  “Are you guys seriously making an Amazon joke at me?” Alexa says. “You’re, like, five hundred bajillion years late to that party.”

  Jason laughs. “Alexa, explain the joke.”

  “Okay,” Ivy says. “You’re so not as funny as you think you are.”

  Sophie deadpans, “How about, ‘Alexa, let’s go find a different table, because our friends are idiots’?”

  “My parents got an Amazon Echo,” Ahmed says. “Every time they address it as Alexa and tell her to do something, I can’t stop laughing.”

  “I wanna come play with it,” Jason says.

  “That’s what she said,” Alexa adds.

  I cross my arms. It feels like I crashed a party and now everyone’s ignoring me. It’s like I’m on the brink of sitting at this table, being part of this group, but not. I hang out with people all the time, but it never feels like this. I’m always on guard, always thinking about how I’ll be perceived. No one here seems to be worried about that.

  My foot jitters against the carpet. I hate that it’s dark outside. That means Saturday is almost over. Every passing moment feels like a too-fast clock, ticking down the last seconds of my life.

  The waitress comes over and doesn’t even try to hide her scowl. “All right, you kids decide what you’re having?”

  Ivy is getting a cone-head sundae. I’m taken aback by my own thought. We haven’t been to Friendly’s together in years, so why do I remember that?

  Ivy beams. “Can I get a cone-head sundae, please?”

  Sometimes we would come to Frien
dly’s for brunch after church when we were kids. Ivy always got that ridiculous sundae, shaped like a face with a cone for a hat. In a weird way, it comforts me that she hasn’t changed.

  I wish I had come to Friendly’s more when I was alive. I wish I had gotten more sundaes.

  “Those are for kids under twelve.”

  Ivy frowns. “I’m only fifteen, can I get it anyway? I’ll pay extra.”

  “Sorry, company policy.”

  Ahmed and Jason both roll their eyes.

  “It’s not, though,” Sophie says. “I’ve gotten cone-head sundaes.”

  The waitress shrugs. “Sorry. You gotta get something else.”

  I glower at her.

  “Okay.” Ivy sighs. “It’s no big deal. I’ll have—”

  Jason cuts her off. “She’ll have two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”

  Ivy’s brows draw together, and I can tell she’s just as pissed with Jason ordering for her as I am.

  Jason continues, “Add three M&M’s onto the front scoop, two on top and one directly below, like two eyes and a mouth.”

  A smile creeps across my face. I know where this is going. “And hot fudge,” I practically shout. No one can hear me, but I’m bouncing in my invisible seat. “And a cone on top.”

  Ivy must catch on, too, because the corners of her mouth slowly tug into a grin.

  “Add hot fudge,” Jason says. “And a ring of whipped cream around the top. And add on a cone, please, placed upside down on the whipped cream.”

  Technically they didn’t order a cone-head sundae; they made one. The waitress huffs, but writes it down. I’m pretty sure she hates everyone here. Ivy catches Jason’s eye across the table, and he winks. She smiles at him but quickly darts her gaze back to the table.

  After the lady takes everyone’s orders and leaves, the table nearly dies laughing. I laugh along with them, but it fades into this weird, uncomfortable sense of loneliness.

  I’ve never had friends like this. Abby, Jaclyn, and I don’t go to the movies or try on clothes at the mall together like girlfriends on TV. All we really do is sell shit and show up at parties just to be seen there. I don’t know anything about their families or their crushes or their hopes and dreams, and they definitely don’t know anything about mine. We don’t have inside jokes that aren’t related to the people we sell to.