Ignoring me, she opens the door to reveal Spencer—eyes half-mast and swaying on his feet within the silver halo cast by the porch light.
“God, Spencer! What are you doing here?” she demands.
He smiles at her and garbles out, “I just came to say I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s a little too late for that,” says Daphne.
“It’s never too late.” He shakes his head and awkwardly tries to grab her.
“This time it is,” she insists, stepping back out of his reach. “You and I are over for real.”
His face contracts in anger. “You can’t do that. You’re mine, Daphne. You said—”
“But I’m not yours. Not anymore. We ended things and I never should have started them up again.”
“No!” Spencer pulls at his hair. “You’re wrong!”
Okay, this is getting too crazy.
“Spencer, you need to go home,” I tell him as I push Daphne aside and take her place in the doorway. “We’ll even call you a ride because you shouldn’t be driving. Just wait down in the driveway, okay?”
“Get out of my face. I need to talk to Daphne!” he yells, balling his hand and punching the wall next to the door.
“Spencer, man, get ahold of yourself and listen to Amelia,” Sebastian tries.
More punching. “No! No! No!”
“Just go down the driveway and wait.” I start to close the door, but Spencer grips it with one hand and shoves his way inside.
“Get out!” I shout, stepping in front of him in a vain attempt to block him.
It all happens so fast then. I know that Daphne is screaming and Sebastian is trying to leverage himself between us, but Spencer is too big compared to my small frame. And, even drunk as he is, he’s too fast for me to dodge him. In one violent swoop, his arm connects with the side of my head and sends me stumbling backward into the wall.
“You son of a bitch!” Sebastian roars, charging forward.
“Stay out of this, Holbrook. It’s none of your business!” Spencer tries to deflect him, but Sebastian easily grabs hold of the collar of his shirt and propels him back through the door.
“When you laid a hand on my girlfriend it became my business,” he growls. “Now are you going to leave here on your own or am I going to have to make you?”
“I’d like to see you try,” Spencer slurs, rocking unsteadily.
Sebastian releases his grip and gives a solid kick that sends Spencer tumbling down the front steps. He turns back to me, sides heaving. “Are you okay?”
Dazed but not seriously hurt, I carefully climb to my feet. “I-I’m going to be fine.”
“I’m so sorry, Amelia!” Daphne cries, squeezing my arm and helping me the rest of the way up.
I rub at my head just below the temple and say, “Both of you—it’s okay. I’m okay.”
Sebastian pulls me close, cupping my head against his chest protectively. “It’s not okay. Don’t ever do something like that again, Amelia! He could’ve broken something or worse.”
Still down on the ground, Spencer sees us in the open doorway and spits out nastily, “Fine. You can keep the slut and her sister too. I don’t need any of you!”
Through gritted teeth, Sebastian tilts his head away from me and calls out, “I’m sure we’ll figure out a way to live without you. Now, get your sorry ass out of here or we’re calling the cops.”
Spencer stands and juts his chin forward. His glassy eyes blink and he snarls, “You’ll regret this, Daphne Bright. You wait and see!”
Tears are swimming in Daphne’s eyes. Her whole body is shaking. In a voice so low, it takes me a moment to make sure I’ve heard her right, she whispers, “I already do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bash
I slip the financial aid applications into my bag before leaving the guidance counselor’s office.
“Hey, what are you doing over here? Isn’t your first class on the other side of the building?” Amelia greets me, a stack of brightly-colored paper flyers in her hands.
“Seeking guidance of course,” I say trying to keep my voice casual. I don’t want to get her hopes up. After all, college might not pan out and I don’t want to disappoint her. “How’s your head?”
Amelia rolls her eyes at me. “For the ten millionth time—it’s fine.”
I smooth her dark hair back so that I can examine the faint bluish bruise that’s flowered to the side of her eye. Every time I see it, my chest tightens with unanswered fury.
“I still wish you had let me call the police. Even just to get Spencer pulled over for drunk driving. That idiot deserved it.”
“I told you already that we just want to be done with him. Calling the police would have freaked Daphne out more than she already was. It was easier to just let it go.”
“But you’re still going to tell your parents about what happened, right?”
She nods. “Daphne swears she’s going to talk to them at dinner tonight.”
Then she stands on her toes and gives me a kiss chaste enough for the school hallway we’re in. Wanting—no, needing more—I tug her into a shadowed alcove beside the lockers and cradle her face in my hands.
“You won’t talk to him today at school, will you?” I say against her mouth.
She kisses me back and I can feel the soft smile that curves her lips. “Jeesh—I already told you I wouldn’t. Though I might have to see him next period.”
I don’t like that at all. “I thought it was your free period?”
Amelia drops flat on her feet and makes a face. “I’m meeting with the Spirit Club.”
“Why?”
“Student government has to help make plans for the winter pep rally next week. That means getting together in the gym with the cheerleaders and the basketball team and the captains of the football team—”
“Which means Spencer,” I finish for her.
“Right,” she says, nodding her head.
“Well…” I squeeze her waist. “Don’t even look at him.”
She laughs. “I won’t, but you honestly don’t have to worry. Mr. Brickler is going to be there along with about twenty other people. I don’t think Spencer is going to wreck his reputation by confessing his undying love for my sister or crying or anything even remotely like that.”
I breathe out. She’s right. “Okay,” I say. “Then I’ll see you at lunch?”
One more kiss. “Of course.”
“And what about after school? Are you free today because I don’t have work.”
Amelia’s face falls. “I actually have my first official captains meeting to discuss the upcoming season. And, trust me, I’m not looking forward to it. Coach Sachs is going to be so mad when he realizes I’ve barely played since the summer.”
I groan. “And I thought I was the one with the busy life...” Then I pause, realizing something. “When it’s tennis season am I going to get to see you in one of those cute skirts?”
“I usually just wear shorts.”
I toss my head back. “Ah, now that’s a crying shame.”
She laughs and swats at my arm as she backs away from me. “For you, I might wear a skirt.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep,” she says as she gives a little shake. She’s wearing an ivory sweater and pink and green polka dot leggings that don’t do much to hide her curves.
“You’re killing me!” I complain.
“That’s the plan!”
I get one last smile before she rounds the corner and is gone from my sight. But that final look—the one where the corners of her brown eyes crinkle and her smile goes lopsided—carries me down the hall and follows me into my economics class.
As I take my seat, I know I’m probably grinning like a lovesick fool and that everyone in the classroom is going to notice, but I can’t even make myself care.
I think of the financial aid forms I picked up from the guidance counselor’s office and all the colleges that Seth and I looked at on Saturday nig
ht. For the first time it feels like it might be possible.
I can actually do this.
I can make plans beyond how I’m going to afford the water bill or food for next week. Real plans for the kind of life I want to live—the kind of life I want to be able to provide for Carter. And Seth is right about the custody dispute with my aunt and uncle. No judge is going to take Carter from me when I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m going places—that I’m not just some hillbilly whose barely going to graduate from high school.
Bang!
At first, the sound doesn’t really register with me. In that empty and flat snap of time, I think a transformer has blown and I expect the lights to shut off.
Then I hear the first scream and the terrible realization explodes inside of me. That’s gunfire.
I’m out of my chair and running before I can think better of it. Teachers are yelling. People are shouting. Panicked shrieks are coming from somewhere down the hall.
Fear splinters through me as I race toward the locker bay. There, I’m swarmed and driven back by a stampede of terror-stricken students running away from the cafeteria and the gym.
The gym.
That’s where Amelia’s Spirit Club meeting was going to be.
Bang! Bang!
“Bash!” It’s Seth. He shoves past a fallen stepladder and grabs the bottom of my shirt to pull me from the crowd. “To the door!”
“I can’t. Amelia is back there!” I push him off and fight my way against the tide of bodies as I desperately search for her familiar face.
“Amelia!” Even in this mess, I can hear the brokenness in my own voice. It echoes inside my head and billows straight into my lungs.
What had I said to her before? About wanting to worry, wanting to let her own my heart? Was that only two nights ago?
Bang! Another gunshot fractures the chaos.
Faster, the fear rings in my ears and keeps on ringing.
“Amelia!”
I turn the corner and skid to a stop. Oh God. It’s too much to take in all at once and despite the frenzy burning its way in my chest, my eyes slip shut, but only for a fraction of a second until the adrenaline coursing through my veins pumps harder, taking over and forcing me into the gym.
“Amelia?” I howl, commanding my body to move, my eyes to search.
It’s awful.
Blood spreads in slick black pools across the gym floor and vomits over the concrete steps that climb up through the center of the bleachers. Everywhere I look, I see pain and hurt. It blurs my vision and messes with my head.
A gun is lying just an inch away from a lifeless hand. I can’t make out the face—it’s just blood and gore—but I recognize the football jacket and Spencer’s threats echo inside my mind. You’ll regret this.
“Amelia!”
There.
I run, making a path between the door and the basketball hoop, and I drop down beside her.
“I’ve got you,” I say hoarsely as I gather her quaking body in my arms.
She’s moaning. Her breaths are shallow and stuttered and she’s trying to crawl away from me. Blood is soaked through her leggings all the way into her boots.
“No, Amelia!” I push her long hair away from her forehead and force her face to mine. Don’t look at anything else but me. Please don’t look.
Her eyes are red and vacant with anguish. Unseeing, she squeezes my forearms, her nails making burrows in my skin, and screams.
“It’s okay… it’s okay…” I choke out these same words over and over as I brush her hair back. And each time I say it, it hurts worst than the last.
We both know I’m lying.
Nothing is going to be okay.
Not ever again.
Part Two
Tell me what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
~Mary Oliver
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bash
The images are strange—faltering and choppy.
Blood. The sound of sirens assaulting my ears. Fear choking me, squeezing my heart. Her limp fingers slipping through mine. And yelling—so much yelling.
“Bash?”
I come to awareness at the kitchen sink, my ears filled with a swishing sound. What am I doing? Everything is too bright. Why am I staring out the window at nothing? I glance down and see that the tap is on and there’s a glass full of water in my hand. Was I drinking that?
I turn the water off, then I set the glass down and look around and notice Carter. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in front of him. He’s dressed for school, but I don’t have any recollection of helping him get ready.
My head hurts and I wonder if maybe I’m losing my mind. Or maybe I’m trapped inside of a dream. A nightmare, I correct myself.
“Bash?”
I try out my voice, almost surprised when it works. “Yeah, bud?”
He gazes at me for a second before asking, “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re sad?”
Fiery pain spikes my chest, slicing into my heart. I have no idea what to say to him. How to explain evil to a seven-year-old. How to tell him about Amelia.
“It’s a terrible tragedy. Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Green Cove this morning.”
The sound of the television grabs my attention and draws me into the living room. They’re talking about us—about Green Cove.
“That’s right, Stuart. Police are saying three are dead and one person is injured.”
The reporter is standing in the parking lot of the high school.
“Green Cove, South Carolina is the latest community in our nation to be rocked by a mass shooting. Here, at this high school you see behind me, eighteen-year-old Spencer McGovern reportedly demanded that students get on the floor of the high school gym before opening fire on Monday morning and killing three people, including himself.”
The television clicks off to a black screen.
“Shit, man. I didn’t know you were awake yet,” Seth says guiltily, his eyes turning to me. The remote is in his hand.
I gesture to the television. “Has it been like this?”
He nods his head and swallows. “Nonstop.”
I run my hands up and down my face. “Oh.”
“You need to eat something,” Seth says, his expression strained. “I got Carter ready for school. I wasn’t sure if he should go or—”
“No, it’s good for him to go. He needs things to be as normal as they can be.”
“And your aunt was calling your phone all night. I finally answered around three in the morning to let her know you and Carter were fine.”
Fine? I don’t feel fine.
“Bash?” Carter asks from behind me. His face is red and he’s blinking past me to the television. “What’s wrong? Why was Green Cove on the TV?”
It takes a full minute to work up the courage to speak. “Nothing—” I start, trying to ignore the blistering ache in my chest, but it’s no use. My voice shakes so much that I can’t go on.
I can’t do this.
I can’t lie.
“Bash?” Carter is waiting.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes but nothing will stop the flood this time. It takes over my whole body, driving me to the floor. I don’t even know who I’m crying for—Myself? Her? All of us?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amelia
Brittle grey morning light is sneaking in through the curtains, taunting me, luring me from the depths of sleep. I don’t know how long it’s been. Days? Weeks?
Wait.
Days… weeks… since what?
A sharp, cramping sensation ratchets up my side and I reach down to feel a bandage taped below my navel. What is that from? And why can’t I think straight? My head feels dull and gauzy, caught somewhere between here and a faraway dream world.
Slowly, the sounds from outside my window come into focus. Shout
s. The rumble of an engine. A clanging I don’t recognize.
Pushing aside the comforter, I force my feet over the side of the mattress. They dangle for a moment and then I’m up on wobbly legs. I hold my aching side tightly, my fingers splayed across the white bandage, and I lean into the window sill.
There is a bustle of activity below and it takes me a minute to sift through it all—the news vans parked between the pine trees past the long driveway and the mob of strangers just beyond the front gate.
I don’t see Daddy’s car but I do see a woman I don’t know staring up at the house. She’s holding a teddy bear in one hand and a candle in the other.
As I watch her, a sick, nagging feeling begins to gnaw at me. Why is she here?
Nothing is making any kind of sense to me.
I can remember a hospital... A cold floor. A pale ceiling. A deafening noise. Beeping machines. Hands prodding my stomach. Apologies whispered in my ear.
But I can’t remember why.
I turn around and stare at my bedroom. Everything is in the correct place, but something isn’t right. Where is everyone? Why am I not at school? Where’s Nancy? Daphne?
A memory swells within me only to be sucked away before I can grab hold of it, like a rimy word melting too soon on the tip of my tongue.
“Daphne?” I fumble toward the closed bedroom door and teeter into the hallway. “Hello? Anyone?
As I grapple with the knob of her bedroom door, a strange and wintry kind of panic begins to seep into my chest, filling in the spaces between each of my ribs.
Daphne’s room is the same as it’s always been, except… What’s wrong?
A fragile image, breakable as glass, is struggling to the surface. Something about Daphne and…
The bed.
My sister never makes her bed, yet there it is—perfectly made up—right in front of me. Even the throw pillows are arranged nicely over the shams.
I take a tentative step into the room. “Daphne?”
“I didn’t know you were up yet.”
The Bright Effect Page 19
