by E. E. Cooper
I stopped at the intersection of the hall. “I have to get back to calculus.”
Brit winked. “Are you sure you don’t want to skip? Your teacher will think you’re still down in Ms. Harding’s office.”
“I’d better not,” I hedged. “If I get busted, my parents will kill me.”
“C’mon, let’s go. We’ll have fun.”
I knew she wanted me to join her, but I couldn’t stand to be with her anymore. “If I’m going to get into Cornell so we can be roomies, I’ve got to go back so I can nail the exam.”
Brit poked my upper arm with her bony finger. “Fine, I’m letting you off this time, but you’d better get an A.”
“Cross my heart,” I said, trailing my finger in an X over my chest. I turned and walked back to class. I wanted to turn around and make sure Brit wasn’t following me, sneaking up on me, but I suspected if I did she would know what I was thinking. She would see it as a win for her. I steeled my shoulders and walked slowly and deliberately back to class, not turning around once.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When I opened my front door, I was so shocked at who was there that I dropped the half-eaten apple that had been in my hand. It landed on the front stoop with a wet smack and rolled to rest against Zach’s foot.
“Sorry about that,” I said. I bent over and picked up the apple. There were pine needles stuck to it. “I wasn’t expecting you.” I felt flustered, almost how I felt around him when we first started dating. I’d trip over myself or knock things off tables with my elbows. Once I laughed at something he said while eating lunch and shot a clot of yogurt out of my nose. Eventually I relaxed, but now I was back to feeling awkward every second.
“I need to talk to you, just us.” Zach had his hands jammed deep in his pockets and was shifting from foot to foot.
I stepped back. “Okay, sure, come on in.”
Zach looked surprised, like he’d expected us to have the discussion standing in front of my house. For a second I thought he might refuse, but then he wiped his feet on the mat and followed me in. I sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island and Zach took the seat opposite of me. It was stiff and formal.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. “My mom made homemade lemonade last night, and I’m pretty sure there’s some left.” I started to stand, but he waved me back down.
“No, I don’t want anything.” He wiped his hands on his pants. He glanced around. “Are your parents home?”
“No, they’re both at work.” I wished he’d asked for a drink just so I would have something to do with my hands. They seemed stuck on the ends of my arms with no purpose. He’d given me the cold shoulder at school for so long I’d forgotten how to talk to him. “You ready for exams?” I finally asked to break the silence.
“Did-you-have-anything-to-do-with-what-happened-to-Sara?” Zach said, the words spilling out all over each other. I sensed he’d been saving it up to ask me for the past two days.
“Why would you think that?” I tucked my hair behind my ears and tried to lean casually against the counter. His accusation put me off balance.
“I know how Brit feels about her, and I know she’s your best friend.” Zach kept eye contact with me, like he was some kind of CIA operative trying to interrogate a hostile witness, assuming government agencies wore Firefly T-shirts. I supposed it wasn’t an outlandish guess. Everyone knew that Brit blamed Sara for what had happened with Jason.
“Sounds like you need to talk to Brit about all of this,” I said.
“I’m not asking Brit, I’m asking you. Did you have anything to do with that photo?”
I swallowed hard. I had no idea why he thought I was involved. “Do you think I could do something like that?” I looked down and realized I was still holding on to the grimy apple. I stood up, glad to have a distraction, and put it in the trash. I ran to the giant farmhouse sink and washed my hands. It felt good to break eye contact with him.
“I’m not sure what you’re capable of doing anymore.” I think he wanted it to come across as cruel, but it sounded more lost and sad.
I grabbed a towel and sat back down. “I don’t know how many times you want me to say I’m sorry, but I am.”
“This isn’t about you and me. This is about Sara. She’s a good person. She didn’t deserve this. Can you imagine? Every step she takes down the hall, she knows everyone has seen that picture. People are writing all sorts of nasty shit about her, leaving notes in her locker, whispering.”
I shifted on the stool. I didn’t like thinking about Sara. “It’s horrible, but what do you want from me?”
Zach slapped his hand down on the marble countertop, making me jump. “I want you to stop answering every question with another question!” Zach rubbed his face. “Do you even realize you’re doing it? You haven’t denied it since I got here. You’ve danced around it, but you haven’t answered me. So yes or no, did you have anything to do with what happened to Sara?”
I swallowed hard. Lying to him was hard, but I hoped I could parse out enough to satisfy him. “I didn’t post the picture.”
Zach watched my face closely then slowly deflated. “You did have something to do with it.”
I sighed and turned to get something out of the huge industrial fridge. I needed time to think of something to say. It felt as if I’d wandered out onto paper-thin ice. “I just told you I didn’t post the picture.”
“But you didn’t deny you were involved. Don’t you see how you’ve changed?” Zach’s voice was almost a wail. “It’s bad enough, but if you can’t even see it, that’s worse.”
I was leaning toward him. I could feel the truth rising in my throat, wanting out, straining.
“Her friends are worried that Sara is so upset she could hurt herself.”
My mouth slammed shut. Nothing would make Brit happier than if she drove Sara to suicide, the ultimate revenge. A prickle of unease ran down my spine—was that her plan? And if she could do that Sara, what would she do if she thought Zach was out to get her? I couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t see him as a target.
I put my palms down on the counter and leaned across. “Do you want me to deny it? I will. I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Sara.” I could hear my heart thumping in my chest sounding like I’m lying, I’m lying, I’m lying to me.
Zach searched my face.
“Do you believe me?” I asked.
Zach was silent for a beat, and then he shook his head. “You’re not being truthful.”
Relief that I wasn’t a great liar was mixed up with anger that he didn’t take my word, and the two emotions swirled together in my stomach.
“Why are you doing this? This isn’t like you,” Zach said. He reached over and touched my arm. “You never used to be someone who would hurt people.”
“If you’re not going to take me at my word, maybe you should leave.” I fussed with my parents’ giant stack of cookbooks on top of the counter until they were in a tidy pile. I picked at a crusty blob of something that had dried on the cover of the top book. “I think we both need some time.” When this situation was all over, I’d explain it to Zach. That yes, I had been involved with what happened to Sara, but I had to be, at least until I had proof. As soon as I heard back from Nicole I could take action, but there was nothing I could do now other than stay close to Brit. I didn’t have a choice. With any luck he’d understand. Sometimes the end does justify the means.
Zach stood. “I don’t need time. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
A hot wave of anger poured through me. No one appreciated what I was doing—how I was keeping them safe, even though it cost me. “You can save your dramatic lines for the stage.”
“I don’t even know you,” Zach said.
“Maybe you never did,” I shot back. Even as the words left my mouth I wanted him to know I didn’t mean it. Zach knew me almost better than anyone, and if he didn’t see that core still in me, the good part, then I worried nothing was left.
I was turning into Brit, having to shut down emotion so I could maintain my focus. If I didn’t resolve things soon, I ran the risk that there would be nothing of the real me left, just a hollowed-out rock-hard shell.
“Guess not.” Zach turned and walked out. I half expected him to slam the door, but it shut with a quiet click.
I picked up a water glass from the counter and hurled it onto the floor, shattering it against the tile. I stood over it, almost panting with anger when the back door opened. I spun around to scream at Zach, but it was my mom. Her hands were full of grocery bags.
“Hey, was that Zach I saw leaving?” She placed the bags on the counter. “I hope you invited him to stay for dinner. Even if you two aren’t going out he’s still always welcome. Who else will listen to your dad blather on about his robots? Remember that time—”
“Careful,” I said, cutting her off. She followed my gaze to the floor, where the broken glass sparkled in the late-afternoon sun. “It was an accident,” I said. What was one more lie?
Mom leaned over and kissed my forehead. “It’s good to know you got some lack of coordination from your dad and me. I’ll clean that up if you get the last few bags from the trunk.” She was already unrolling a wad of paper towels to pick up the shards.
“I can do it,” I said. “You don’t have to clean up my mess.”
Mom looked over at me, and I realized how sharp my words had come out. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. Moms are masters at picking up messes.” She bent down. “Did you and Zach have a fight?” Her voice was tinged with sympathy.
I closed my eyes and wished I could just disappear. I wanted her to be angry with me too. It was easier than when people were kind. “Sort of,” I admitted. “He’s never forgiven me for things with Beth.”
The pieces of glass made a tinkling sound as she dropped them into the trash. “One of the hardest things to understand is that when we make a choice we have no control over how other people will feel about that decision.”
“So what do you do?”
She smiled at me. “You make the best choice you can and take comfort in that.” Mom motioned to the garage. “Bring in those bags. I bought ice cream and it’s going to melt.”
I left her to finish cleaning up. I’d made the only choice I could, but I didn’t have any comfort in it. My only hope was to hear from Nicole while there was still enough of the real me left to salvage.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I took a deep lungful of air and felt muscle memory clicking in. My arms and legs moved together, passing the ball up field and then racing to keep pace with Kate. At times like this I felt like a Swiss watch, gears and cogs clicking together, perfectly balanced, doing what I was designed to do. Flawless. The constant noise and buzz in my head quieted down when I ran. The barrage of what-ifs and thoughts of Beth and Britney stopped bouncing around and were finally silent. The voluntary off-season spring practices were the only thing holding me together some days.
I heard someone cheering for me and I reached deep, pushing myself to run faster, to get ahead of the play. My thighs burned with the effort, but I could see how it was going to unfold. I didn’t even have to look; I could sense Kate winding up for a shot. My stick met the ball and without a pause to overthink the angle, I fired it off the goal. It went right high side and slammed into the back of the net. My squad cheered, and I raised my stick in the air like it was a bow and fired an imaginary arrow into the sky. This was something I could still do well. This was still a connection to who I had been before all of this started.
I felt closer to Beth when I was on the field. I used to love to watch her play: not only was she good, but you could see that she loved it. As much as I hated to admit it, she and Brit had worked well together on the field, and it was sports that had brought them together. Beth told me they became friends in elementary school when Brit slammed her in the face with one of those red rubber balls used for kickball. Beth had been so mad she’d punched Brit. Somehow that seemed to summarize their entire friendship. Competitive.
Brit blew her whistle. “Nice play,” she called out.
I jogged off to let the next line go on, high-fiving people as I went.
One of the sophomore players passed me a water bottle when I got back to the bench. “Great goal,” she said.
I lifted the bottle like a toast and took a deep drink then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Did you see Kate’s pass? It was awesome. She was the playmaker there. If we keep up with those kind of passes, we’ll be hard to beat.” I’d learned this from Beth—if someone gave you a compliment, turn it to praise someone else. It made for a stronger team.
She nodded. “No other team is putting in this extra time. It’s going to pay off. We’re going to be a force next fall,” she added. She bounced on her feet like she couldn’t wait for the next season.
“We sure are.” I couldn’t even begin to imagine next year. Brit would be gone. She might be queen of the school now, but her reign came with a time limit: she was graduating soon. When I tried to picture my senior year it was a blank. There would still be the team, our chance to make state finals, college applications, and art class. It was as if I could see the individual puzzle pieces, but I couldn’t put them together to make a picture. I shook my head and concentrated on the game.
A whistle blew on the play. I’d missed what happened, but my line was up again. As I jogged onto the field, Brit held up two fingers indicating she wanted to do a double back pass. I gave a curt nod so she knew I’d seen it.
Brit got the ball in the face-off, and once I knew she had control I put on the speed. Amy cut me off as I ran toward the goal and my foot slipped on the grass, sliding off to the side. I didn’t fall, but it slowed me down. Brit was under pressure too, and she stopped short, hitting the ball over to me. I stretched my stick out, trying to make it work, but I missed the pass.
Melissa stole the ball and took off to the other end of the field. I spun so I could go on defense, but before I could catch her one of my line mates got her offsides before she could get close enough to take a shot. I stood with my hands on my hips and sucked in air, trying to get my breath.
Brit’s stick tapped mine. Some of her hair had pulled free of her ponytail and was stuck to the side of neck with sweat. “You gotta pick up your game if you want me to trust you to take these guys to State next year!”
I nodded, still catching my breath. I didn’t bother pointing out that her pass had been wide.
“No way Kalah was going to get that,” Kate said, smiling. “The only one who could pull in those wild shots in was Beth. Hell, she was always making those impossible plays.”
“Are you saying I’m not as a good a player as Beth?” Brit asked. Her eyebrows drew together.
“You can’t be the best at everything,” Kate shot back, laughing.
“Well, since you’re so great at evaluating how the team is doing, maybe you should be captain.” Brit held out her whistle to Kate.
The easy smiles that had been on everyone’s faces dropped. The entire team was silent; the grumble of buses pulling out of the loop in front of the school was the only sound. A flicker of excitement rose in my chest. Brit was showing her true self.
“I was just joking,” Kate said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Brit looked around the circle and forced her face into what I think she hoped would pass as a smile. There it was: that slip of control, that flash of anger. This must be why her parents wanted her to see Dr. Sherman. “I was just joking too. Gawd.” Brit pushed out a laugh. “What’s with all the serious faces?”
“You know we all think you’re the best for helping us prep for next year, right?” Melissa asked. A few of the sophomore girls were shifting back and forth like they were antsy ponies ready to bolt. This side of Britney made them uneasy. They were remembering that she wasn’t always Miracle Brit, back from the dead. She had a nasty side.
Brit tossed her head. “I’m fine. It was just a joke. You g
uys used to have a sense of humor.” She blew the whistle, but no one moved.
“Let’s finish this game,” I called out, clapping my hands together, and Brit shot me a look of gratitude.
Everyone jogged into place, but they moved slower than before, as if the fun had gone out of the game. A few people were exchanging glances. Amy mimicked Brit’s head toss and Kate snickered. I kept my expression neutral as if I didn’t notice. Brit was ahead of me and I could see her trying to joke around with the players near her, but I could sense their unease. The perfect princess was starting to crack.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brit jerked her chin toward the door of her basement suite. “Open the door. My hands are full.” I glanced down; Brit had only one small bag. “You know the code, don’t you?”
A blanket of frost crept across my heart. “Um, sure.” I punched in the numbers and swung open the door. Should I have pretended I didn’t remember the pass code? I stepped into the room. I jumped when Brit jerked open the blinds on the small windows by the door.
“Do you want something to drink?” Brit asked. She bustled past me and dumped her bag on the sectional.
I hadn’t been in the room since I’d broken in when she was gone. At that time it had seemed like one of those museum rooms set up to look like the people had just stepped out, but strangely empty. Today it looked like it always had when we hung out there. There was a pair of Pink sweatpants draped over the arm of the sofa and an empty yogurt cup sitting on the coffee table.
“Sure,” I said. I relaxed my shoulders. Being here made me nervous. I sat down on the couch. Brit had been vague about what she wanted but had insisted we come back to her place after school. The thought that no one else knew I was here skittered across my mind. I felt trapped in Brit’s personal clubhouse.
I heard the gasp of the seal on the large walk-in wine cooler as it opened, and I flinched. I couldn’t look at the cooler without thinking of Beth’s body being dragged inside. Her corpse propped up in a corner like she was trash. I picked up the magazine that was next to me and quickly flipped through the pages, trying to get interested in the photos of celebrities who had made a bunch of fashion don’ts. Brit was silent and I suddenly became convinced that she was creeping up behind me with a bat to kill me like she’d killed Beth. I spun around and Brit took a quick step back. Instead of a bat there were two cans of Diet Coke in her hands.
