Avenged
Page 19
“I believe you need to focus on your mental health free of any distractions. Getting away from here to go to a summer job may reduce your stress because it’s removing the triggers, but it isn’t addressing the underlying issues. You need to face those straight on.”
“I’m not going to some camp for psychos,” I said. “I won’t do it.” Instead of coming out stern and serious, my voice shook.
“I understand this isn’t what you want, but I need you to answer a question for me.” She paused and waited until I reluctantly nodded. “How is your current approach working for you?”
I welled up with tears and hated myself for having that reaction to some stupid Dr. Phil tagline. “I don’t want to go away,” I said.
“I think you are seeing this as a step back, when in reality this can be a very positive step forward for you. This is a chance for you to take control of your health.”
Dr. Sherman stood and went over to the credenza on the far wall. She pulled out a brochure from the drawer and brought it over to me. She sat in the chair next to mine as if she was going to read it to me like a bedtime story.
I flipped through the glossy pages. It looked like one of the college brochures that were coming in the mail now that I was almost a senior. People, one of each race to feel inclusive, were all airbrushed perfect and posed sitting in front of a huge stone fireplace, with another shot of a girl smiling as she paddled a canoe, and another of a group sitting in a circle, their faces all serious as they reached new levels of mental wellness. The ink on the back of the slick brochure was sticking to my fingers. I wanted to wipe it off on my jeans.
“I don’t know what my parents will think of this,” I said. “It looks expensive.”
“They want what’s best for you,” she said.
“I don’t think I need to do something this extreme,” I said, trying to pass her the brochure back. “I’ll see you more often and I promise I’ll take the medication—my mom can watch me if she needs to—but I don’t want to go away. It’s not going to help me.”
Dr. Sherman leaned toward me. “Kalah, I want you to try and see this from an outsider’s perspective. You’re having the same problem you had at your previous school, only this time the outcome has been more serious. There’s what happened to your classmate Sara, and with this reporter. . . .” She held up a hand to stop me from interrupting her. “I’m not going to argue those things with you, all I’m saying is that if this situation continues unaddressed it could become even more dire.”
“Brit is going away to college in the fall,” I said. “There isn’t going to be a problem.”
“I know you don’t want to find yourself in this same situation a year from now only with different people. You want to tackle this so you can have it behind you once and for all.”
I was willing to bet there would be no way I’d find myself facing the same problem ever again in my life. What are the odds that one of your best friends would murder the other and then find a way to manipulate the whole thing? The absurd urge to laugh started to burble up inside me. I bit the inside of my lip to make it stop, but it was too late and the desire was too strong.
Dr. Sherman pulled back when I started to laugh. I slapped my hand over my mouth and tried to make it sound like I’d been coughing, but there was no way she was going to fall for that.
“I’m nervous,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
Dr. Sherman went to sit behind her desk. The session had to be almost over. I’d been trapped in here forever.
“I’ll take this and think about it,” I said. I made a big production of tucking the brochure into my bag. “My parents and I can talk about it at home. I don’t want to make any decisions right away because I need to focus on exams.” I made a show of looking at her clock. “In fact, I should get back to school. I can catch final period.”
Dr. Sherman smiled. “You should know me better by now, or maybe it’s that I know you.”
“What?”
“I know a delay tactic when I see one.”
“I really do need to study,” I protested.
Dr. Sherman leaned back in her chair. “That’s fine. And you’re welcome to take the brochure and talk about it to your parents.”
“Okay,” I stood. I wanted to bolt for the door, but I knew that wouldn’t look good.
“What you need to understand, Kalah, is that regardless of how long you would like to think on the issue, I’m going to recommend this course of action to your family. I strongly believe that you need a residential program. I understand that you don’t feel it is the right decision for you, but I don’t believe you’re in a place to make a good choice at this time.”
I felt myself go cold. “So you’re saying everything has already been decided.”
“I know when you look back on this you’re going to agree this was the best choice.”
I didn’t even bother to answer her and instead pulled the brochure out of my bag, dropped it on the floor, and walked out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My skin felt like it had been stung all over by a million microscopic bees. It was as if I were hyperaware, each nerve at full attention. The smell of oil paint and the spongy wet rot smell of papier-mâché hung in the air. I could hear people outside the window yelling and calling out to each other. School had been out for almost an hour, but there were still people hanging around the halls.
I’d called Brit as soon as I left Dr. Sherman’s office. The idea had come to me perfectly formed. It was time for me to confront Brit with what I knew. I had nothing to lose. She had to be dying to tell someone. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened to her, that she’d ever done. I know Brit. She wanted to brag. She’d been dancing around it, so now was the time to give her a chance to gloat. Besides, she already knew I suspected what happened. All the games she was playing were to keep me in my place and let me know how much I had to lose if I caused her trouble. Britney would think it was safe to tell me. Everyone already thinks I’m crazy. Who would believe me? Only she wouldn’t know I wasn’t counting on anyone believing me. I was going to bring them proof.
My eyes kept darting around the art room. If this worked, she’d be here in seconds. I knew I should leave it alone, but I couldn’t resist touching my phone. I’d tucked it directly behind a few bottles of poster paint on the bookshelf. The record function was still on.
“Testing,” I said softly. The line on the bottom of the screen wriggled, letting me know it was recording. I wanted to turn it off and double-check that it was picking up enough sound, but I didn’t have time. I’d already tested it at least a dozen times. I briefly debated setting it to video record, but I worried I didn’t have enough battery life left. Audio recording would require less juice, and I needed to make sure I got as much taped as possible. I put the phone back down and shifted the paint bottle just a few millimeters to the left.
This had to work. My hands shook. Once I confronted Brit there would be no going back, no pretending. Maybe I should take off before she got there and take more time to make sure I had a foolproof plan. This was the only thing I could think of that stood any chance at all. School would be over in days and then I’d be shipped off to a residential program. The evidence would be gone from her basement, and there would be no way to pin it on her. I had to come up with something that would be beyond doubt. It wasn’t just about Beth anymore. Now I had to protect myself. Even if I wanted to walk away I couldn’t. I tapped my foot in beats of six to try to calm myself.
“What’s all the cloak-and-dagger?” Brit leaned on the doorjamb. She held up her phone, showing the text I’d sent her.
“I have to talk to you. Just us,” I said. “I knew we could be alone here.”
Brit came in the room. She wandered slowly past the bookshelf, and I tried not to stare at where the phone was hidden. Her finger trailed along the table. She looked over the final art projects as if she were a curator from the Louvre. She seemed completely unruffled.
She looked up from the art on the table. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk about what happened. About the truth.” The anxiety I’d been feeling all day flowed out of me, and in its place there was sudden anger. It felt good to confront her, like a huge release of this toxic thing I’d kept inside. “If we’re going to be friends, real friends, we can’t have any secrets.”
The corner of Brit’s mouth lifted. “Of course. After all, what are friends for if you can’t tell them the absolute truth? Are you saying you did tell that reporter Derek those lies about me?”
“Don’t bother playing games. I know what you did.” I pronounced each word loud and clear as if I were reading out a sentence from the court.
Brit placed a hand over her heart in fake shock. “What I did?”
“Was it an accident? I really want to believe that it was. That you didn’t plan any of this.” My throat grew tight. “I know you loved Beth.”
“Yes,” Brit said. Her head tilted down and her hair swung to cover her face. Did she finally feel some shame?
“Brit, we can still make this right. If it was an accident, you must have been scared. I know how it is: you tell one lie and then you have to tell another to cover for the first. You got in over your head. Maybe you want to believe your own story, but the fact is I know the truth. I know you killed Beth.”
I half expected her to break down in tears or maybe to throw something at me, but she didn’t seem to react at all. She just stood there with a tiny smile on her face. She began to stroll around the room. I had to keep turning to face her. I didn’t want her behind me.
“Why would I kill Beth? Are you listening to yourself right now?”
“You were mad because you thought she was with Jason. You guys were always competing, and you couldn’t stand the idea that you were losing.” She didn’t respond. I had to make her angrier, get her to react. “You hated whenever someone picked Beth over you. Colleges did. Guys did. The truth was that Beth was the one people really liked, not you. I think we all knew you really were nothing more than a shallow bitch who would peak in high school.”
Brit paused and leaned against the bookcase. She seemed to evaluate what I’d been saying, but instead of lashing out at me she seemed almost pleased. Proud. “Beth was worried about you. I told her that she shouldn’t have kissed you. You know how she was; everything was just a game to her. I think she wondered how quiet little Kalah would react, but I don’t think she ever expected your response. I tried to tell her you couldn’t take teasing like that.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
Brit sighed. “She thought you were too into her. I told her you can’t expect to play with people’s feelings and not get burned. She left to get away from you.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “She never left. You killed her in your basement. She came over to talk to you about Jason the night of her birthday, and you killed her.”
“Does it make it easier for you if you think I’m to blame?”
“You’re lying,” I said. “Maybe you’re the one who can’t accept what you’ve done. You killed your best friend over something that wasn’t even true.”
Brit shook her head sadly. “What did you do to Beth, Kalah?”
“What?”
“My mom asked me if it was possible that the reason I blocked out what happened at the Point was because maybe I saw something. Something I didn’t want to face. Did you know Beth was coming to stop me and try to use that as an opportunity to talk to her? Did she tell you to go away? Did you snap?” She smiled again. “Maybe you pushed her.”
I could feel all the energy I’d built up start to melt away. She wasn’t going to admit to anything. I’d been so sure if I confronted her she would say something, admit her role. I’d already pictured myself clutching my phone as if it were buried treasure and hustling the recording directly to Officer Siegel.
The entire police department would gather around to listen to the confession. My parents would be standing there relieved, realizing that it was over, that I had been right all along. Then they would bring Brit in. She would try to lie her way out of it again, but when she was confronted with the tape she would break down. I’d come back to school and instead of people talking about me in hushed tones dripping with fake sympathy they would be in awe. They’d wonder how they missed everything.
“Kalah, stop it. You’re scaring me,” Brit said. “Stay over there.”
I looked up confused. I hadn’t moved.
“I shouldn’t have come,” Brit said. “I didn’t want to believe what everyone was saying about what happened at your old school.”
Before I could respond, Britney grabbed a corner of the bookcase and pulled sending the art on the shelves flying to the floor. The sound was like an explosion. The pottery shattered and one of the paint bottles broke, splashing bright turquoise spatters everywhere.
“Kalah, don’t!” Brit yelled. “Please don’t hurt me.”
I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. What the hell was she doing?
Brit made sure I was watching her and then she slapped herself hard in the face. She let out a cry and the bent down, picking up a piece of broken pottery. She tossed the pottery up as if it were a baseball and then, before I could respond, smashed the pottery into the side of her face.
“Oh, Kalah, please stop.” Brit stepped gingerly through the mess on the floor, making sure to keep her feet clear of the paint. She pointed down at the phone lying in the middle of the mess and waggled her finger silently in my face. She’d seen it all along. Or maybe she’d just guessed. Known that was something she would have done if the situation were reversed.
There was a slam of a door down the hall and the sound of footsteps. Brit blew me a kiss. There was a trickle of blood running from a cut just above her mouth. Then she ran from the room, calling for help.
I hadn’t stood a chance. Brit had always been one step ahead of me. All I’d done was put my head in the noose I thought I’d made for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Watching the science show Nova with my dad I’d learned about dark matter. This invisible mass neither emits nor absorbs light. You only know it is there because of its gravitational pull on everything around it. That’s what I felt like I’d become. This thing in the room that everyone pretended they couldn’t see, but I was sucking in all the energy, growing heavier and denser. My own mini–black hole.
We were all crammed into Principal Hamstead’s office, Brit sandwiched between her two parents like they were her personal bodyguards. There was a hint of a bruise near her eye, and the cut above her lip was covered with a small bandage that she was sporting like a badge of honor.
Principal Hamstead looked at me as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. His neck jutted out from his shoulders, with his head looking unnaturally large at the end of it. It gave him the appearance of a vulture. “You must understand that we have zero tolerance for physical violence here at Northside.”
“Of course,” my dad said. He’d worn a tie for the meeting. He looked as uncomfortable and as out of place as I felt. Having Nadir as their first kid hadn’t prepared my parents for this kind of trouble.
“I want to thank everyone for making time for this meeting. I know things are busy with the end of the school year and graduation around the corner,” Hamstead said.
“We also have home renovations starting in a week,” Brit’s dad said with a scowl on his face.
“I know how stressful home projects can be,” Principal Hamstead said. “However, we need to discuss how to best handle this situation.”
“This was an assault. You’re lucky we don’t file criminal charges,” Dr. Reyerson spit. She’d done nothing but shoot daggers at me since they’d arrived.
If she could have reached over with her perfectly French-tipped manicure and slapped me for daring to harm her precious Brit, she would have done it. “I knew we should have done something when we heard she was the source to the paper, but I let Brit convince me to let it go, and now this.”
“We appreciate you not making this a criminal matter.” Dad shifted in his chair.
“I think we all understand that Kalah isn’t well,” Ms. Harding said. She was the only one who looked happy to be in this meeting—hell, she looked practically gleeful. This had to be a school counselor’s wet dream situation. Drama. Mental health. High emotions. A chance for her to sound like an expert. She could sit between our warring families like she was a hostage negotiator.
“We’ve come together because it’s important we’re all on the same page and create a plan to finish out this school year,” Mr. Hamstead said. “Our number one priority is that Britney feel safe.”
Everyone in the room nodded. Poor, poor Brit. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
“I don’t want her to have any access to Britney,” Dr. Ryerson said. “We’re considering a restraining order.”
“Mom, don’t. I know Kalah didn’t mean it,” Britney said. Everyone’s face softened when they looked at her, like they could hardly believe how kind she was to forgive me. “I don’t want what happened to cause her any more problems.”
I clenched my hands into fists and stared down at the floor.
“We’re going to need assurances that Kalah is going to get some help before the start of school next year. You understand that other parents are going to hold the school accountable to ensuring there is no repeat of this behavior,” Mr. Hamstead said.
“We’ve arranged for Kalah to have additional treatment, but I’m sure her doctor can provide some kind of note before the start of school next year,” my mom said.
Dr. Ryerson sniffed. It was clear what she thought of the treatment I might get. Most likely she would advocate that I get some kind electric shock therapy. Maybe waterboarding.