She nods.
“So you knew about me all this time and you still . . .”
“Still what?” she says when I let the thought trail off. “Still wanted to be friends with you? Why wouldn’t I? You’re not a sociopath.” Her pale face flushes pink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so crass. My mom’s always telling me to stop being crass. It’s just—I see how some people treat you around here, like they think you have no business walking the halls like everyone else. As if what happened to you couldn’t happen to any one of them. And I’ve always been the type to root for the underdog, so—” She turns even redder and covers her face with her hands. “Sorry,” she repeats. “Not that you’re a dog. I’m just going to stop talking now.”
I grab my pencil and start doodling on my side of the sheet. “You mean you felt sorry for me.”
“No.” She drops her hands, looking horrified. “I wanted to be friends with you because I like you. To be honest, Ethan’s talked about you so much since I met him, I felt like I knew you even before you came back to school.”
My pencil halts right in the middle of sketching a five-point star. “Really?”
“Really. And not stuff about what happened with you and his sister either. He talked about you. What you were like, you know, before. How amazing he thought you were. And at the end of summer, when he found out you were back in town . . .” She picks up her pencil again and fills in the rest of my star. “He was freaked, Dara. Not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him. He was convinced you thought he hated you.”
“I did,” I say, swallowing hard. Knowing these things about Ethan makes me feel sad and frustrated, like I missed out on something good I didn’t even know I had.
“Well, let me assure you, that boy has never hated you. Even when he couldn’t forgive you, he still didn’t hate you. I’m glad you guys were able to move past everything and be friends again.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Or should I say friends with benefits? I hear Corey walked in on you two after band practice on Saturday. That couch is pretty comfortable, right? Hunter and I get a lot of use out of it too.”
I manage to smile thinly in response, even though my brain is stuck on something else she said. Even when he couldn’t forgive you . . . What does she mean? What exactly has Ethan told his friends that he hasn’t told me?
All this time, I assumed he meant it when he said he didn’t blame me for Aubrey’s death. But hearing this makes me wonder if there’s something to my parents’ suspicions, after all.
Maybe, buried so deep he doesn’t even fully realize it, Ethan is angrier at me than he lets on.
My mother recently instated a rule that we all must do something together, as a family, every Friday evening. Like our mandatory family dinners, these evenings feel forced and unnatural. Tonight, it’s a kid-friendly movie in the living room, but I’m having trouble following the plot. I feel restless and distracted, and for the first time since Aubrey died, I’m not even trying to keep still. It’s like my body suddenly needs to make up for all those months of inertness.
About halfway through the movie, my phone vibrates with a text from Ethan. You free?
Kind of, I type back.
Free enough to come out? I’m right outside your house.
I want to go to the window and peek through the curtains, but that would arouse suspicion, so I don’t. Instead, I text Be right there and stand up. My mother looks at me.
“I’m going out for a couple of hours.”
She frowns. “Dara, it’s family time.”
In order to have family time, you need to feel like a family, I want to reply, but that would probably set my father off again, so I say, “I know, but I forgot I made plans to go for a drive with Ethan. Sorry.”
Dad’s face twitches, but he doesn’t say anything. Tobias doesn’t even glance away from the TV, and Mom sighs like I just ruined her life. I take that as permission.
“I won’t be late,” I promise as I head for the front door. I throw on my coat and leave before anyone has time to change their minds.
I fully expect to see Ethan’s car when I get outside, so I’m surprised when it’s nowhere on my street. As I’m about to pull out my phone and text him, he steps out from behind the neighbor’s tree and scares the hell out of me.
“Damn it, Ethan,” I say as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his cold body. My heart races, partly from the scare and partly from his proximity. “I thought you meant you were picking me up in your car so we could go for a drive.”
“My car’s low on gas, so I’m picking you up for a walk instead.”
“You walked here from your house?” Aubrey and I used to walk to each other’s houses whenever our parents were unavailable to drive us, so I know it takes about fifteen minutes at a brisk pace. “Wasn’t it cold?”
Obviously it was, because his skin is like ice. The temperature is actually pretty mild for December, but the wind adds a damp chilliness that settles into your bones.
“I’m nice and warm now,” Ethan says, pressing his freezing nose to my cheek.
I squirm and glance behind me. We’re a safe distance from my house, but still, we have lots of neighbors. Nosy ones. Gripping the sides of his jacket, I drag him back behind the tree, out of sight.
“Why didn’t you come to my door?” I ask him.
He grins and slips his hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “Because I’m scared of your father.”
Okay. I’ll give him that. My father is sort of terrifying, especially when he’s mad.
After warming up for a while behind the tree, we decide to walk to Juniper Park. On the way, we pass several decorated houses, reminding me how close it is to Christmas and New Year’s. And Aubrey’s birthday.
“Do you still want to be a cop?” Ethan asks as we cross the street.
I shrug. Mrs. Dover brought the topic up again yesterday, when she called me in to discuss why I haven’t yet applied to any colleges. I didn’t have an answer for her, and I don’t have one for Ethan. Things are different now; that naïvely confident fifteen-year-old no longer exists. Police officers risk their lives to protect people, and I can’t even work up the nerve to drive a car.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I answer.
Thankfully, he doesn’t push. A few minutes later we arrive at the park, which—due to the late hour and increasingly frigid weather—we have all to ourselves. Hand in hand, we walk along the gravel path that cuts through the grass, pausing when we reach the stone fountain. We sit on the edge, facing the deserted playground area in the distance.
“Remember when you walked across the monkey bars?” Ethan says.
“Of course.”
“I thought you were going to fall and break your neck.” He lifts a hand and brushes it against my fortunately undamaged neck, making me shiver. “You were so fierce back then. Fierce and fearless. I loved that about you.”
I feel a prickle of hurt and look away, not wanting him to see it on my face. Since those traits no longer exist in me, what’s left for him to love? Shame and anguish? Not exactly attractive qualities. “I was more reckless than fearless,” I tell him, making my tone light to cover up the sting. “Not to mention a show-off.”
He grins and hooks an arm around my waist, tugging me toward him. “Yeah, but you were a cute show-off. I couldn’t even think straight when I was watching you up there, and not just because I was afraid you were going to fall. You had on those little white shorts that showed off your legs and all I could think about was how sexy you looked. And how much I wanted to do this.”
He tips my face up and kisses me, extinguishing my hurt and igniting a much different feeling. The kind I’m still not entirely used to experiencing around Ethan. Sometimes, when I think about what we’re doing, about how it’s him I’m kissing and touching and wanting, I feel like I’m breaching some sort of ethical code.
Ethan, however, has no such qualms. His hand slides unde
r my coat, inching toward the hem of my shirt. I can feel the iciness of his fingers even through my clothes, so I yank his hand out and hold it firmly in mine.
“Don’t even think about touching me with your ice cube hands,” I scold him. “You might be bigger than me now, but I can still take you in a fight. I used to be very good at kicking your ass.”
“I know. I thought that was hot too.”
“Sure you did.”
“No, really.” He leans back a bit and sticks his other hand under the back of my coat, where I can’t easily block him. When his cold fingers meet my bare skin, I shriek and try to jerk away, but he grips me even tighter and presses his entire palm against my lower back.
“Ethan,” I gasp, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I revert to my old playful self for a moment and push him.
Neither of us is prepared for what happens next. The force of my shove knocks him off balance and he slips off the edge of the fountain, landing on his knees on the hard pavement below. He laughs and gets right back up, so I know he’s not hurt. But knowing this doesn’t stop the wave of panic that hits me when I realize what I did.
Just like the day in the truck with Dad and Tobias when we drove down Fulham Road, my breathing shallows as the memories flood in, pulling me under.
Garbage reeking under the sun.
A small, still foot, nails painted blue.
Crimson blood on the asphalt, spreading, soaking . . .
So much blood.
“Dara. Dara. Look at me.”
Ethan’s voice breaks through, and suddenly I’m back on the fountain again, arms wrapped tightly over my abdomen and fingers curled into fists. I focus on Ethan’s face, which is pale and anxious. Seeing him so worried makes me worried, and it takes a few seconds to regulate my breathing again.
“I’m okay,” he says, taking hold of my wrists and prying my arms away from my body. He lifts my right hand and presses it flat to his chest, right over his heart. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”
Tears spill over my lids and I nod, unable to speak. His heart thumps steadily against my palm, rhythmic and alive, but all it does is remind me of how fragile bodies are. How quickly and easily the life inside them can cease and fade away.
“I’m sorry, I can’t—” I drop my hand from his chest and stand up, prepared to walk away and leave him there, alone but safe, on the lip of the fountain. But he’s in front of me before I can even take one step.
“Please don’t be sorry,” he says, gripping my shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, I kind of liked it when you pushed me. You were like the old Dara again for a second. It was nice.”
“But I’m not the old Dara anymore, Ethan.” I take a step back, out of his reach. “I’ll never be her again.”
He lowers his hands and stuffs them into the pockets of his jacket. “I know that.”
“No. I don’t think you do.” Another tear escapes and I swipe at it angrily. “I’m sorry I can’t be fierce and fearless and whatever else you loved about me back then, but that girl is gone. Forever. Don’t you get it? I’m different now.”
“And you think I’m not?” he says, his mood darkening in a flash like it did the other day in the hallway at school. “She was your best friend but she was my family. Losing her changed me too, you know. I’m not that innocent little kid anymore. I stopped being a kid the day my sister was crushed to death by a fucking truck.”
The words hit me like darts, making me flinch. I knew he felt these things, but hearing him say them, feeling the potency of his anger while he says them, is a different experience altogether. It also confirms the suspicions I’ve had ever since my conversation with Noelle in chemistry a few days ago. Ethan is still mad at me. And even if he isn’t completely conscious of it, he does blame me, at least on some level.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble after a few moments of heavy silence. “Do you want me to go?”
He sighs and takes my hand, weaving his cold fingers through mine. “I’m sorry too. Don’t leave. Please.”
There’s not enough light to see his face clearly, but I can hear the vulnerability in his voice, feel it in the way he squeezes my hand. Something inside me melts.
“Walk me home?” I ask softly.
He nods, his tensed shoulders sagging in relief. Still holding hands, we exit the park and start down the sidewalk to home. The colorfully lit houses seem almost garish on the walk back, like someone went and jacked the wattage up to maximum. Or maybe it’s because everything feels clearer and more intense after what happened in the park. Even the smallest things seem amplified now.
When we get close to my house, Ethan leads me behind the neighbor’s tree again. I tilt my head up, expecting a kiss good night, but he’s not even looking at me. He stares at the ground in front of him, lost in thought.
“Ethan?” I touch his arm and he looks up, blinking like I just woke him from a dream.
“Do you think this is a mistake?” he asks out of nowhere. “Us, I mean? Is it becoming too much?”
Too much. Does he mean our relationship? The conflicting mix of guilt and desire that rushes through me each time we kiss? The feeling that we’re betraying Aubrey’s memory in selfish, dishonorable ways? Everything about this is too much.
“I—I don’t know,” I tell him. It’s mostly the truth. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore or what I want or how I feel. All I know is I’d be devastated if I lost him forever too.
“Okay,” he says, even though it’s clearly not the answer he wanted from me. I’ve never been too much for him. Not even now, when I would be for anyone else. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Of course.”
The wind picks up, rustling what’s left of the leaves on the branches above us. Ethan glances up as if gathering courage from the sound and then returns his attention to me. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous.
“My parents are going out for New Year’s Eve,” he says. “They won’t be home until the next day sometime, so I’ll have the house to myself for about twenty-four hours. Do you want to come over and celebrate Aubrey’s birthday with me?”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s not this. My first instinct is to decline. I haven’t been to the McCraes’ house since Aubrey died, and the thought of going there again makes me light-headed with dread. Aubrey’s school pictures are probably still on the walls, her room still exactly as she left it. Or maybe not. For all I know, her parents could have scrubbed the house clean of all traces of her. I’m not sure which would be harder, seeing things that remind me of her or not finding anything at all.
But Ethan’s waiting for an answer, so again, I give him a noncommittal one.
“I’ll think about it.”
It’s the most concrete promise he’s going to get from me right now and he knows it. Without saying anything else, he walks me up to my door and kisses me lightly on the lips before disappearing back into the dark.
twenty-four
Sophomore Year
AT LUNCHTIME ON TUESDAY, I BOLTED OUT OF class right at the bell and waited for Ethan near his locker. When I saw him approaching, I gave him an expectant look. In response, he frowned and shook his head.
“I don’t think she’s talked to him,” he said, stopping in front of me.
To my horror—and probably Ethan’s—my eyes filled with tears. I’d given Justin plenty of time to do the right thing and own up to his mistake. I realized now he’d probably never had any intention of telling her. He’d missed the deadline I’d given him on purpose, forcing me to do his dirty work for him so he wouldn’t have to. Coward. I couldn’t believe I’d ever liked him.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, he’s just such a . . .” Frustrated, I squeezed my eyes shut, trapping the wetness inside. “Never mind. Do you know where Aubrey is?”
“No, but we have a lunch meeting for orchestra in a few minutes and she said she’d—”
> “What’s going on?”
Adrenaline flared in my stomach and I turned in the direction of the voice. Aubrey stood about two feet away, watching us. Ethan and I stared back at her, mute.
“Dara, why are you crying?” she pressed when we failed to answer her question. “Are you—did something happen?”
These were the first words she’d spoken to me since Sunday. On a normal day, I would have felt relieved she still cared enough to ask. “Aubrey,” I said, and then immediately ran out of words.
“What is it?” Her hands rose to her hair, but it was already in a braid, so they just lingered there for a moment before dropping to her sides again.
I glanced at Ethan, who gave me a tiny nod of encouragement. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked her, stalling again.
“No. I need to know now.”
“Aubrey . . .” I trailed off helplessly.
She crossed her arms. “Just tell me, Dara. Does it have anything to do with Justin? You seem to hate him all of a sudden. Obviously something happened and you’re both keeping it from me for some reason. Travis told me he heard you two fighting in the hallway yesterday, but I thought he was exaggerating or imagining things. Now I’m not so sure. Just tell me,” she repeated, her eyes boring into mine. “Are you and Justin . . . is something going on between you two?”
This was something I’d worried about for the past two nights as I lay in bed wondering what would happen when she found out—that she’d think Justin and I were fooling around behind her back. Still, hearing her actually voice the suspicion out loud sent a tremor down my spine.
“No, Aubrey,” I said, taking a step toward her. “Of course not.”
She continued to stare at me, waiting, silently begging me to explain. And I didn’t have any other choice, because no matter what repercussions might come from this, no matter how impossible it felt to say the words, I owed her the whole truth.
“The other night at Paige’s party,” I began, keeping my eyes on the scuffed floor, “Justin came up behind me in the garage and he pressed up against me and he . . . he put his hands on me. I stopped him, but he was so drunk it was like he didn’t even realize what was going on. That’s it, Aubrey. Nothing else happened. I didn’t tell you right away, because I wanted to give him a chance to come clean to you first. But he hasn’t, so . . . I’m sorry.”
These Things I’ve Done Page 18
