He called Ivy. He called her again. The third time the phone rang only a few times before it went to voice mail. Had she rejected the call? Or was that the normal amount of rings?
Xavier wanted so desperately to believe that Sasha was right, that Ivy was fine. That he was just hungover. But somewhere deep in his gut, Xavier knew this was different. Somewhere deep in his gut, Xavier knew nothing would ever be okay again.
Xavier’s mom got back from her night away. She looked worried. Did Xavier maybe need to make another appointment with Dr. Carol? No thank you, Xavier said. Then Xavier went to the bathroom and threw up as quietly as possible.
You’re never going to talk to Ivy ever again, his brain said. Xavier didn’t even know why he thought that.
Xavier lay on his floor and stared at the ceiling. His whole body hurt, like he’d been in a fight.
He closed his eyes. He tried to think of anything but how scared he was and how sick he was. He tried to slow his breathing, to quiet his heart.
It wasn’t working, it wasn’t working, it wasn’t working.
But then, finally, the text came.
A text from Ivy.
At first, he didn’t care what the words of the text even were, he could barely focus his eyes, anyway. But just the fact of hearing from her at all was enough, was all he wanted. Then, hands shaking, he finally read what she’d sent.
I don’t want to do this anymore. It was a mistake to try again. Don’t bother texting back. Srry
He read it again.
And again.
He closed his eyes and lay back on the floor again to stop the room from turning over.
It seemed completely impossible that Xavier had received that message at all. That after everything, this is how it would end. Again. It made no sense. Which is why it made perfect sense—because that was her, that was Ivy. She’d always surprise you.
Xavier braced himself, waited for the sadness to come. Even though he’d decided he was done with her, there’s a difference between deciding and having it decided for you. Xavier waited for the familiar dark pit to beckon. But instead, his brain gave him a gift, a thought so clear and reasonable, it felt like it was coming from someone else’s head—Xavier didn’t have to try and figure any of this out.
He could just stop.
He could just let her go.
Goodbye, Ivy.
He whispered it out loud.
And then, as though those words were magic, the spell that had bound him to her since the moment he first saw her watching him run up that snowy hill was finally broken.
He felt a rush of joy, even through the hangover. A rush of dizzying relief. He was so ready to be finished with all of this, with this entire part of his life, to make everything that had ever happened with Ivy a distant memory. He texted his best friend:
Can we please go out and do something fun tonight? Sloe Joe’s??? This whole Ivy nightmare is finally done. I am free!!
Sasha
I gave myself an hour. One hour to tell Xavier the truth—not the truth of what I’d done, but the truth of how I felt. I had to get it out, now, while I still could. Then, when I was finished, I would drive myself to the woods. I would go back to Ivy’s body. I would call the police and tell them everything. And they would come and get her. Come and get both of us.
“Dance like the room is full of spiders!” Xavier was bopping next to me. He wiggled his fingers near his face.
Three weeks earlier, I had stood in the same spot at Sloe Joe’s and danced with Xavier on the night of his birthday. Now we were back, but there was a thick layer of cotton between me and the world. I wasn’t really here. I wasn’t anywhere.
How was any of this even possible?
“Dance like your hands have become spiders, actually. But you’re cool with it!” Xavier did spider fingers on my shoulder, then took my hand, shook it around. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth. I held on tight.
I imagined what Xavier would think later when he looked back at this night. When he finally knew what had happened, and understood that I had known all along. He would remember me drinking, and dancing, holding his hand.
He would remember the text message he got from Ivy and know that I was the one who had sent it. I shivered in the heat in the dark.
What the fuck had I been thinking? Even I could barely explain it. I was there in the woods, outside my body, and nothing felt real. It still didn’t. But I knew how worried he was, how terrible it was for him to be waiting and waiting for that text. And I realized then that he’d be waiting forever now. . . .
I had just wanted to give him a moment of relief. A moment of relief before there was none.
I watched him. He caught me staring and waggled his tongue through his teeth. He was different than I’d seen him in a very long while, smiling, chugging rum from a bottle he’d brought in his bag. He seemed so happy.
He leaned in close, his mouth against my ear. “I can’t believe I spent so long being so obsessed,” Xavier called out over the music. “I can’t believe I spent months like that. It’s crazy to think this time yesterday I was going out of my mind. So out of my mind I had to take myself completely out of my mind. I blacked out. I was not even on this planet. And now here I am with you, and everything . . .”
Xavier was looking me straight in the eye. He pulled me toward him. His skin was hot, like he was on fire. “. . . and everything feels . . .” He leaned in. Something was happening. Something I had waited so very, very long for. And wanted so very, very badly.
I could barely breathe.
I closed my eyes. And when I opened them, there was his sweet face, flushed from alcohol and dancing, lips slightly apart. He leaned in closer, closer still.
But I couldn’t do this.
I stepped back.
“Whatever happens next,” I told him, “just know that . . .”—I love you—“. . . I’m so, so sorry.”
And I forced myself to look away, because I could not bear to see his eyes, how they’d change or how they wouldn’t. I could not bear to see whatever would happen next on his face, because whatever he might think he meant now . . . he sure as hell wouldn’t mean it tomorrow.
So I turned and I tried to run. He caught me by the wrist. His hand was strong. And he was holding me so tight. For a moment, I actually couldn’t get away.
“What’s going on?” he said. He sounded desperate. “Talk to me.”
But I didn’t turn back even to look at him, I just shook my head. “Let me go.” I yanked my arm again. He held on for a moment longer and then he released me.
“Wait!” he called after me. “Please!”
I was running then, the blood rushing in my ears. When I got to the door, I turned back one last time. I saw his face and it cracked me clean through, he looked so hurt and confused. And so, so scared.
I ran all the way back to the train. I wondered what he could possibly be thinking, what he could possibly be imagining, and I knew, no matter what it was, the truth was so much worse.
Xavier
Xavier stood in the center of the dance floor, noise and lights all around him, but all he could see was the expression on Sasha’s face as she pulled away. All he could hear was her voice: Let me go.
She had looked at him like he was crazy. What if she was right?
Xavier was more confused than he had ever been. He replayed everything that had led up to this, trying to figure it out.
It seemed insane to him that less than twenty-four hours before, he’d been full of panic about Ivy. How was that even possible? Now that he was free of her, it felt like it had all happened a million years ago.
He’d been so excited to see Sasha tonight. That was the main thing on his mind. It had gotten awfully strange between them, and he had missed her very much, maybe more than he even realized. He was ready to be done with the Ivy part of his life, to be back to normal. Or better than normal.
But the night had started off a little funny—Sasha was in a mood he could
n’t quite figure out. They met up at the train station, and she seemed very far away. When he asked her about it, she just said she was fine, except she wasn’t talking much. He wondered if she was mad at him. He wondered if he should mention what had happened at Nikolai’s party and apologize. But he’d already subjected her to more than enough drama, hadn’t he? He owed her a night of simple fun without him bringing anything else into it. So he took out his rum and they started to drink.
And that’s when things changed. They got to Sloe Joe’s. They kept drinking. And he felt this overwhelming rush of joy spreading through his whole body. It was summer, and he was young and free and out with his favorite person, and they had the whole night ahead of them. They danced, got closer and closer.
And it had started to seem like maybe something was happening between them. He thought he wanted it to and maybe she did too and maybe they’d been taking baby steps toward it for a while.
Then all of a sudden she was pulling away. Let me go. He thought about the horrified expression on her face and the look in her eyes, right before she turned and ran.
What the hell had he done?
Sasha
Back in the woods again.
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.
It was still early. The setting sun poured pink through the trees. And there was Ivy on the ground. It seemed impossible, but there she was. I didn’t let myself look at her face, not yet. I had to find my necklace first. I’d find my necklace and then call the police. I wondered where they’d send me when they got us, if I’d be allowed to have a necklace there.
I searched among the bugs and dirt and sticks and leaves. There it was, right near the base of the tree. I reached down to the soft earth and grabbed the locket, held it tight.
I forced myself to look at Ivy’s face then. There was a tingling behind my eyes, and I knew I was about to lose it—I was about to fall apart entirely. I wanted to cover her in a blanket, like she was just asleep. I wanted so desperately to wake her up. “I’m sorry,” I said. I stared at her tiny pointed chin, her wide mouth, that space between her two front teeth. “I’m so sorry.” I leaned in.
Then I gasped. Not because of what I’d done, but because of what I saw. Marks around Ivy’s neck.
They were half obscured by her bunched-up sweatshirt, but I could see them now, peeking up over the top of her collar. I pushed the thick fabric out of the way, and there were more—the red and purple dots mottling her skin, arranged in clusters in a thick band around her neck, dark against light, like a reverse Milky Way.
What the fuck is this?
But I knew—suddenly and for certain.
These were choke marks.
I closed my eyes.
But I had never touched her neck.
All at once, the thoughts clicked into place.
Ivy was dead.
But I hadn’t killed her.
She was choked to death.
I raised my hand to my throat.
I had no idea how to feel.
What to think.
What to do.
Someone had killed her.
Who?
Why?
All I knew was the when and the how. Sometime between when I left her last night and before I saw her this afternoon, hands had been around her throat, squeezing tight, squeezing until there was nothing left.
I was dizzy and sick.
I looked at her face, her neck, her legs, her arms, at her hands, curled into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and I noticed something else. I leaned in close. Blue strands. There were delicate light blue strands like threads but thinner, tangled between her fingers, catching the light. Tangled between her fingers like she’d grabbed them and yanked them as she desperately gasped for air through her closed throat and did not find any.
Blue strands.
Xavier’s hair.
I remembered what Xavier had said, how he had no recollection of the night before. He’d taken pills and drank and blacked out. He said he felt like maybe he’d done something terrible that he couldn’t remember.
Time stopped. And in the space between seconds, my brain sped up and I understood two things:
One—something had happened between Xavier and Ivy, and now she was dead with his hair in her hands. And he had no recollection of any of it, of being with her at all. I knew he didn’t, he wasn’t making that up. I’d seen his face that morning, the panic, the fear. It was genuine and real.
And two—I could not call the police, not anymore.
Sweet, gentle Xavier. Sweet Xavier who was sensitive and kind and caring, would never knowingly hurt anyone ever. And if he did, even by accident, the very thought would destroy him. Whatever had gone on out here, there was no chance that Xavier had been aware of it, or had done it on purpose. Whatever had gone on, whatever he did, he didn’t remember. He never would.
And I couldn’t let him try.
It was my fault. I had made this terrible, awful mess. And now I had to clean it up.
* * *
What happens when the unimaginable is right in front of you? What happens when you have to make a decision you can’t possibly make?
The world cleaves in two. And suddenly you are outside yourself watching, watching, watching to see what you do.
We are, all of us, stronger than we realize. Maybe it is good to know, but you’d trade it all for never having had to find out. Pray you never find out how strong you are. Pray you never find out how much you can carry, how much you can bear, how many secrets you can keep.
And where you can hide them.
Xavier
Xavier woke up with the sun. Before he even opened his eyes, he was thinking about Sasha. And what had happened the night before.
He felt a twisting in his stomach, and he pressed his face into his pillow. Oh Lordy, he sure had messed things up. But maybe he could fix it.
He had an idea.
His father was in the kitchen getting ready to leave for work. Xavier asked him to drop him in town on the way.
Fifteen minutes later Xavier stood at the counter of the old-fashioned bakery. He bought seven cinnamon sugar donuts, the kind they were known for that always sold out. Then he walked to her house. “I have those seven cinnamon sugar donuts you asked for,” he planned to say. Seven was the funniest number of something to get to give a person. And things had gotten so strange between them, only a joke could fix it. Unless showing up at her house would make things weirder.
Would it?
He suddenly wondered if maybe he should turn around, maybe he should make his way back home. But by then he was at her house and saw that she was already outside. For a moment it felt like magic.
“Fancy meeting you out here!” he said. “And it’s a really lucky thing actually because I have your . . .” He held the bag of donuts out in front of him. The grease had soaked through the paper.
But when she looked up and saw him, she did not smile. Xavier felt like he was sinking. His mouth opened and fumbled for words he had not planned out because he was not yet even sure what they should be. He lowered the bag of donuts to his side.
“About last night,” he said. “I’m really sorry that . . .” What was he trying to tell her?
“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Sasha said quickly. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“But I—”
Sasha shook her head, just shook it and held up her hand. And that’s when Xavier noticed the tent and the duffel bag sitting on the ground next to her car.
“Running away from home?” He was trying to make a joke, to sound casual, but no part of him felt casual. His heart was pounding.
“I have to go,” she said. “On a trip.” Since when did Sasha go on last-minute trips without even telling him?
He was struck with the terrible fear that his joke was not far off. She was running away. She was leaving because of him, because of what had almost happened between them. She was leaving and never coming back.
Or maybe, he realized, it wasn’t even about him at all.
“With who?” he said. But he thought maybe he already knew the answer, and it made him feel sort of sick. “Who are you going on the trip with?”
“No one,” she said.
“Really?” He felt a moment of crushing relief. “How come you’re going?”
“I just need to go somewhere,” she said. “My mom and Marc are out of town again and I called in at the shop and I . . .”
“Can I come?” His voice cracked. It was suddenly very, very important to him that she not get into the car and drive away. That she not get into the car and drive away without him.
She shook her head. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? Is it because of that time I . . .” He was trying to think of something funny to say, but then they locked eyes. And he stopped. Hers were completely flat, like she wasn’t even in there behind them. Something was going on, and he could not begin to guess what it was. But he knew one thing for sure: He couldn’t leave her to deal with this alone. She’d taken care of him for weeks and weeks, done her best to protect him, to keep him sane. And now it was his turn.
“Please,” he said. “Sasha, I know it’s been . . . a lot has happened lately. But I need to come with you.” She was looking at him, slowly shaking her head. “Whatever it is that’s going on, you don’t have to tell me. I won’t even ask about it, I swear. I’ll just sit in the car. I’ll be like one of those mannequins people use to ride in the carpool lane. We can ride in the carpool lane!”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said. But her voice sounded wrong, and he didn’t believe it.
“Good,” he said. “Great, I’m so glad to hear it.” And then he had an idea that was either funny or dumb, but he was going to risk it. He walked over to her car. He opened the door. He got in the passenger seat and sat down. He shut the door and rolled down the window. He leaned the seat back until he was practically lying down. “So when do we leave?” he shouted. “Don’t worry, I already packed our donuts!”
Sasha was silent. He sat up. She was still staring at him, her eyes were very shiny. She was starting to soften, he could see it. “I’m not getting out of the car, so either I’m coming with you, or you’re gonna have to pick me up and drag me out.”
Bad Girls with Perfect Faces Page 11
