Frayed

by Kara Terzis

  “A few days ago, I think. That’s what he was telling everyone anyway.”

  My blood turned to ice at Jackson’s words, but I made sure that none of the turmoil twisting inside me showed on my face. Rafe was lying when he came back to Circling Pines. What was that supposed to mean—and why? To clear his name or for some other reason?

  The plane ticket suggested he came back before Kesley’s death—but my sister’s funeral had been almost a month ago.

  “You okay, Ava?”

  I swallowed. My throat felt too thick. Mouth too dry. Uncontrollable fear pulsed under my skin, shooting adrenaline through my veins. I had to reach down out of sight and pinch my forearm. The sharp pain helped to clear my mind, helped me think more rationally.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I knew I didn’t sound it. “I just… I just didn’t realize he was going to come back after Kesley—” I stopped there, biting down hard on my tongue.

  “I want you to stay away from him,” Jackson said. I was taken aback by the hardened edge to his voice, but I dared to shoot him a look. His face was expressionless enough, although a muscle in his jaw ticked.

  “Why?” I asked hesitantly.

  “He’s bad news. I can feel it.” Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed and asked if Jackson was psychic, but the last thing I felt like doing right now was smiling. Instead, I just stared out the window without replying. I was beginning to wonder if Jackson knew something about Rafe that I didn’t.

  The fog was gradually beginning to float away, and the school’s harsh outline was becoming visible through the gloom.

  “Just promise me you won’t—” Jackson started.

  “Okay, okay, I promise. There’s no need to sound like my mother. One is enough, thanks.” His laughter broke through the tense silence, and I smiled.

  Another beat of silence passed before I ventured to speak again. There was something I wanted to know—desperately—but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up without making it sound like an accusation. “How’s May?”

  May, Jackson’s older sister and a senior in high school, was the same age as Kesley. Being a junior, I’d always felt intimidated by May and her friends. I regretted asking about May when I saw Jackson’s fingers clench around the steering wheel, but he answered me in a relatively calm voice.

  “Better than usual, actually.” Then he added, “I guess as good as she can ever be. Still doesn’t do her homework, and she’s probably going to fail her final exams.”

  “What about…them?”

  He laughed. “Them? Their name isn’t cursed, you know. You can say it.”

  I grimaced. “I know. I just don’t like them. I don’t get it.”

  “You and the rest of the town,” he muttered.

  May was part of Circling Pines’s infamous girl gang KARMA. In the past few months alone, their little group had committed more than ten indiscretions at the expense of other people. Usually, these were just small, immature things, like stealing from the local grocery store. Or spray-painting walls. But now and then, something more horrible would crop up. Like an incident a few months ago that left an old woman without her diamond ring and with a very nasty cut over her right eye. Several trips to juvenile detention and many hours of community service later, the girls still hadn’t learned their lesson.

  “Right,” I said, wondering how to phrase the harsh accusations in my head. Did I believe them capable of murder? Stealing, assault, graffiti… That was at one level—but murder? What could possibly motivate someone to take another’s life?

  “Why did you ask then?” Jackson said, hearing the skepticism in my voice.

  I turned my head toward him, watching his gaze focused on the road ahead, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

  “No reason,” I murmured, sinking farther into my seat.

  I didn’t have the guts to tell him my suspicions.

  The day rolled along fairly smoothly after that, right up until my second-to-last class of the day: chemistry. Because of strict regulations, the science labs were always closed until the teachers came and unlocked them. I don’t know what they thought we were going to do in there, considering the room was almost empty except for several rows of white desks, a whiteboard, and a few lab benches. Most of the scientific equipment was locked in the back room.

  This was my least favorite class—and not because of the subject or the teachers. It was because of the students.

  Chatter filled the science lab halls. The bell had rung a few moments ago, and people were gradually floating away to their classes. A golden-brown, curly head was bobbing through the quickly dispersing crowd, heading toward us. My heart clenched in my chest, and I turned away. I didn’t want to speak to Amanda Dawson. A cold animosity ran deep between us, and I didn’t know why.

  What had I ever done to her?

  Everyone avoided Amanda and her crew, KARMA, as though they were a deadly virus. Rafe’s reputation paled in comparison. Her voice was unnecessarily loud as she headed to the science lab. I gripped my books tightly, afraid she’d make an example of me in front of everyone.

  I wasn’t sure I had the courage to stand up for myself.

  Not in front of all these people who would be watching me with hungry eyes, perhaps waiting for a bitch fight to take place. That wasn’t going to happen. Not here, not now. Surely, Amanda wouldn’t dare speak to me after what had happened—

  “Hey, Ava. How about you move out of my way? You’re kinda blocking the classroom.” There was the jingle of what sounded like teacher’s keys from behind me. I stumbled out of the way but glanced up once I had my back pressed against the lockers beside the lab rooms.

  “Where did you get those keys?” I asked her, surprising myself.

  Amanda actually looked up, her golden curls bouncing as she moved. Her eyes were the color of deep, rich wood, but after the hours she’d spent in juvenile detention with her cronies, they had developed a colder edge, making them devoid of any warmth or friendliness. Her face used to be rounded and very pretty but now looked sharper and angular, the product of all the weight she had lost.

  “Where do you think, honey? I stole them,” she said, her voice like poison. I dropped my gaze to the badly carpeted floor and waited until she’d slid the key in the lock and then I dared to look back up at her. There was a click as she unlocked the door and then it swung open. The class shambled in after Amanda, but I remained outside the room for a few moments.

  “We’re not supposed to…” My voice weakened and trailed off at the disbelieving looks my classmates shot me.

  “Be more like Kesley, Ava,” said a voice from inside the classroom. Amanda. “Be fearless for once.” Her words shot right through me, painful and tight. But the way she’d spoken was as if she’d known Kesley. I pushed down the confusion, the uncertainty, and entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind me. I made my way to my seat beside my lab partner, whose name I couldn’t remember at the moment. Unbidden, my gaze found its way to Amanda. She stood at the teacher’s desk, riffling through class notes. She looked up when she noticed my eyes locked on her.

  A nasty grin spread across her lips, making her face look oddly grotesque. She slammed the papers back down onto the desk with a bang and spoke with a deliberately loud voice so it carried.

  “Looks like we’re experimenting with acids today,” she said. The quiet talk that had filled the room dimmed as everyone watched Amanda. That was one of her many talents—she could get a whole classroom hooked on her words without even trying. My hand, which was lying in my lap, tightened into a fist. I let my caramel-colored hair fall over my face, hiding the left half—the half I knew everyone was going to be looking at right now.

  Be fearless. Fearless, Ava. Be strong. Like Kesley.

  Amanda eyed the room as if making sure people were paying attention before fixing me with a cold stare. A harsh, bright light s
eemed to be glaring down on me. Eyes from every corner of the room were boring into me, cutting like knives. That nasty smile twisted into a sneer as Amanda leaned against the teacher’s chair, tilting her head to the side in a mock-sympathetic gesture. She said, “And I would really hate to see you on the receiving end of that again. Wouldn’t you?” Her words slammed into me with the force of a truck. Acid, acid, acid. Never did I want to hear that word again…not after…

  Fearless, I reminded myself. Be fearless.

  The sharp grating sound of the chair against the floor told me I’d stood. I felt blood rush into my ears and a strange light-headed feeling propelled me forward. Thump, thump, thump went my heart. Again and again.

  I didn’t feel like Ava anymore.

  I felt like a character in a movie or book, acting their part.

  A ragged breathing sounded around me, magnified in the silence. Was it mine? I think so. Fearless, I reminded myself. Do it. Just do it. Before my mind could catch up to my movements, I’d rounded the edge of the teacher’s desk and was face-to-face with Amanda. For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, I thought I saw a flash of uncertainty cross her features—but it vanished as quickly as it had come. My fists clenched. Heart pumped. Legs moved closer to her without my brain’s permission. Part of me—the reasonable part that was no longer in control—screamed at me to get away, to stop this before things got out of hand. But it was too late. I was past the point of reasoning with myself.

  Amanda took a step backward, closer to the teacher’s cabinet.

  My fingers grabbed hold of her collared shirt, and I shoved her back against the glass-fronted cabinets with as much force as I could muster. I hardly registered the shattering sound. Glass fell like rain to the floor, slanting over us in sharp waves. Pain contorted Amanda’s face as a piece of glass slashed her cheek, blood dripping to her chin.

  She stared at me, eyes widening in shock.

  Before she was able to do more than gape at me in disbelief, I drew back my fist and punched her as hard as I could. Her head snapped to the side, a grunt of pain escaping her lips. Screams and shouts were coming from my classmates, but they sounded faraway, muted, cut through by the sound of quickly approaching footsteps clicking down the hall.

  Someone gripped my upper arm painfully, pulling me away from Amanda. And then: “Miss Dawson! Miss Hale! Come with me now, please.”

  My chemistry teacher led us down the carpeted halls and a few flights of stairs, her clicking heels against the linoleum floor sounding like a death march.

  I rubbed my knuckles, knowing there would be bruises.

  What the hell had gotten into me back there? Why had I acted like that? I was a good girl. I didn’t pick fights. I did my homework, kept my head down. My blood still boiled from Amanda’s words. I cast a sideways glance at her as we crossed the small courtyard that led to the principal’s office. I noticed that her demeanor was cool and confident as she walked just behind me. I suppose a trip to the principal’s office was just like going to buy a carton of milk for her.

  But my own insides squirmed and twisted like they were full of worms.

  I waited just outside the door to the principal’s office, feeling the sharp throb in my knuckles. Amanda emerged much later, adhesive medical tape clinging to her cheek. I looked away, ashamed, and focused on the principal’s door. I could hear my teacher’s quiet, angry words.

  Moments later, the door embossed with the golden words Mr. Bernard swung open and my chemistry teacher strode out without a second glance, leaving us to deal with the wrath of Mr. Bernard by ourselves. He appeared at the door, graying hair and horn-rimmed glasses and all. He didn’t say a word as we stepped into the room, although he pointed at two chairs that had been set up in front of his mahogany desk.

  “Sit down,” he said. Amanda and I sat. Two manila folders were sitting on top of his desk—our files, I realized. It wasn’t hard to see whose belonged to whom: mine was pathetically thin, while Amanda’s was bursting at the seams.

  Once we had taken a seat, Mr. Bernard rounded the corner to his desk but did not sit. Instead, he looked down at us, eyes glinting with suppressed anger. I spent the next ten minutes in silence as I glared out the open window, staring at the flickers of filtering gray light and completely tuning out his lecture. I barely listened as he told us how “disappointed” he was in our actions and how he “expected better” from someone like me. He demanded to know what had happened, but both Amanda and I sat as tightly shut as clams.

  “Very well. You will both receive one week’s worth of detention,” he said. Mr. Bernard turned his attention to me. “Miss Hale, this will add on to your previous punishment from Mrs. York. You will both start this afternoon.”

  And that was it. Amanda left without a word, hardly even a nod, but I needed a moment longer to gather my thoughts.

  My hand was on the doorknob when Mr. Bernard spoke.

  “Miss Hale?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let what happened to Kesley change you.”

  My fingers tightened on the doorknob. I didn’t answer, but all I could think was: I think it already has.

  • • •

  I didn’t go to last period.

  Since I was already in deep shit, I figured it wouldn’t really matter if I ditched one more class. There was no point leaving the school premises, considering I’d have to be back there for detention, so I hung out in the girls’ bathroom.

  A long mirror stretched from one side to the other, chipped yellow-brown tiles decorating the very undesirable room. Rows of sinks with faucets sat below the mirror. I stood in the center of the room, closing my eyes. But then I yanked them open, forcing them to look at the girl in the reflection. She looked no different than the girl yesterday or even the day before that, but somehow there was a hardened edge to her eyes that hadn’t been there a couple months back.

  And sometimes, looking in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself.

  Sometimes, looking at myself—flat, brown-blond hair, brown eyes, and the pink, rough scars that ran from the tip of my forehead to the base of my collarbone, stretching along my neck—I didn’t feel real. I felt fragmented.

  I touched the scar along my face, feeling the bumps and ridges, reminding me it was real. That I was real.

  I couldn’t remember much of what happened the night of the accident. The doctors told me the memory loss was because of posttraumatic stress, but I did remember brief feelings and thoughts. Sometimes, I would wake late at night, my throat clogged with a scream, the scent of burning flesh in my nose. Other times, something would trigger a memory: I’d look at a linoleum floor at a certain angle and remember clearly the feel of it against my knees as I fell after the acid hit. Or I’d hear a voice in a crowd that brought back fleeting memories of the police who questioned me.

  Once, a glass beaker had smashed in science class, and the memory of the acid bottle shattering had been just as sharp.

  Yet they were only snatches, hints at a past locked away. If I thought about it, I didn’t really want to know the whole, unedited truth.

  The screech of a bathroom stall door made me flinch back to the present.

  I sighed, pulled my hair over my face once more to cover the scar, and turned to leave. The scar didn’t hurt anymore, but people always stared.

  And with recent events, people had been looking at me a lot.

  • • •

  I walked out of afternoon detention feeling somewhat relieved.

  Amanda, predictably, hadn’t shown, and it was nice knowing I wouldn’t have to put up with her death glare burning a hole in the back of my head. But underneath the relief, my nerves jangled, knowing my mother would’ve heard what happened at school today.

  Instead of texting Lia to pick me up, I was going to walk home, despite the misty rain beginning to fall. Like the coward I was, I knew th
at would delay the moment when I would actually have to face my mother. She worked as a chemist in a lab just outside of town, and today was her day off. I never knew exactly what she did. She was always sketchy on the details. All I knew was that it involved acids and chemicals and all sorts of things I’d rather be ignorant about.

  I paused at the school entrance when I spotted a tall figure leaning against the school’s ivy-wrapped gate. I’d been avoiding Rafe all day, but my luck seemed to have run dry. A cold shiver danced down my spine, and I glanced to my left and then my right. I couldn’t see any way of walking past without him noticing me. A nervous thrill went through me at the idea of confronting him.

  “Rafe?” I said softly as I drew nearer. He turned at the sound of my voice, his hair dripping with rainwater, making his dark-brown hair look black. He shot me a crooked smile, eyes twinkling a bit. There wasn’t a hint of guilt on his face. Did that mean he hadn’t done what I thought he’d done or that he was incapable of feeling guilty? I thought back to what Lia had told me in the car the other day. How well did I know Rafe, really?

  Before he left…before the funeral, I’d thought I knew him well.

  He was intelligent, with confidence that bordered on arrogance, but I couldn’t deny the violent streak that had sent him to juvenile detention.

  I had no idea what he was capable of. On one hand, he was the caring boy I had grown up with. The one who I’d climbed trees with and eaten candy with until we felt ill. The one who Kesley and I would walk the streets with until night fell, then stay out late to count the stars. But he had changed subtly over the years since his parents’ divorce, growing more antagonistic until we’d drifted slowly apart.

  “I wasn’t sure whether you had a ride or not,” Rafe told me as I stopped in front of him. My eyes slid beyond the school gates, and I saw a black car parked a few yards away from where we were standing. Illegally parked, of course. The law was beneath Rafe. Always had been. I swallowed nervously, rocking back on my heels.