That's Not What Happened

by Kody Keplinger

  Sarah hadn’t been brave. Sarah had been terrified.

  But before I could even think about how to bring that up to Ashley, she continued. “It’s disgusting what Kellie Gaynor is trying to do.”

  I blinked at her, confused. “Kellie?”

  Ashley turned her head to face me then. “I figured, of all people, you’d be the most angry. Well, you and Sarah’s parents.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Ashley asked. “Oh. I assumed you … Well, prepare to be furious, I guess. Kellie has been going around telling everyone that necklace—the one the police found in the bathroom—was hers.”

  Her words settled slowly, bringing with them a sinking realization. I’d known the necklace wasn’t Sarah’s as soon as I heard the rumors, but I’d never considered who it might have actually belonged to. We lived in a rural, religious community, and that was a highly trafficked girls’ bathroom. That cross necklace could have been lost earlier in the day. It could have belonged to any girl at VCHS.

  I’m ashamed to admit this, but I’d never even considered that it might have been Kellie’s, even though she was the only other person in the bathroom with Sarah and me when the shooting happened. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d wear a cross around her neck, so I’d never put those puzzle pieces together.

  But she was saying it was hers.

  And I knew it wasn’t Sarah’s.

  That was why she was being harassed. That was why Ashley had excluded her from our survivors’ network.

  Why we were five instead of six.

  “I know,” Ashley said, clearly misinterpreting the look on my face. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t believe anyone would be awful enough to try and take this away from Sarah. But at least no one believes her. I mean, who would believe her of all people … ? Lee?”

  I was on my feet, though I didn’t remember standing up. I cleared my throat. Then did it again. But the tightness there didn’t want to go away. I was surprised and confused. I should’ve corrected her then, but it would’ve meant explaining the whole truth about Sarah, and I wasn’t sure how to even begin with that yet.

  “It’s been an hour,” I managed to say. “Mom is probably waiting for me. I should go.”

  “Oh, okay,” Ashley said. “Perfect timing, actually. My parents should be here soon. They promised to bring me Long John Silver’s for lunch.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “What?” she asked. “My sister doesn’t get it, either, but I swear their fish is really good. Especially if you put some vinegar on it. Oof.” She shook her head. “Crap, now I’m starving. I hope they get here soon.”

  I walked over to her and leaned down to give her a hug. Her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders. In the years that followed, I’d come to regard Ashley’s hugs as the best in the world. But that day, her embrace didn’t warm me the way it eventually would. I felt cold. Numb.

  Looking back, it feels like I should’ve been more upset. Or angry. Or guilty. This realization about Kellie should have impacted me more than it did. But I think my body and mind were so exhausted by that point that this bit of news just pushed me over the edge into emptiness.

  “Hey,” Ashley said as I pulled away and moved to leave the room. “Take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything, call me.”

  I nodded. A lot of people said things like that, but Ashley actually meant it. She was there for all of us.

  Most of us.

  I don’t know how she feels about me right now, after everything that’s happened. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to being the kind of friends we were before I started writing this letter. And God, if she ever reads this …

  Anyway, there is one thing I do know. And that’s that, despite the issues with Sarah and Kellie, I’m grateful to Ashley. I’ll always appreciate how much she cared, how genuine and giving she was. Even if, these days, there’s a good chance she hates me.

  After leaving two separate notes on my truck’s windshield and sending one (ignored) friend request on Facebook, Brother Lloyd finally managed to catch up with me. I knew it would happen eventually. Our town was small, and if you really wanted to corner someone, you could track them down pretty easily.

  I was running errands for my mom on a Saturday afternoon. I’d popped into the drugstore, which was right down the street from Virgil County Baptist. My guess is that Brother Lloyd saw me drive by from one of the church’s windows and hurried down the street to wait for me. Or maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe he really did just happen to be right outside the drugstore when I walked out with a plastic bag full of tampons and Mom’s favorite cheap makeup products.

  “Leanne,” he said, beaming brightly at me. Brother Lloyd is a short, slim man with blond hair and a receding hairline. What he lacks in hair, though, he makes up for in attire. Or at least he did that day. He was wearing a nice baby-blue button-down with a striped tie and black slacks. In a town where putting on a clean pair of unripped jeans is considered dressing up, this was verging on too fancy. “It’s so nice to run into you.”

  “Hi, Brother Lloyd,” I said, moving past him toward my truck.

  He followed me, of course. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Yeah. I got the notes you left.” My keys were in my hand now, and I was trying to figure out how difficult it would be to extract myself without coming across as rude.

  “Good, good. Glad you saw them. I was beginning to wonder when I hadn’t heard from you, but I’m sure you’re busy with school and all that.” His smile slipped into something more determined then, and he cleared his throat. “Listen, Leanne, the McHales came and spoke to me.”

  I unlocked the driver-side door and pulled it open, not making eye contact with Brother Lloyd as I tossed the plastic shopping bag onto the other seat. “That’s kind of what I figured.”

  “They’re worried about you,” he said. “And I must say, I am, too. Some of the things you’ve been saying lately … well, they have me concerned.”

  “Concerned,” I repeated as I hoisted myself into the truck.

  The preacher moved quickly, positioning himself in front of the door so that I couldn’t shut it. He was smiling, though, an expression of forced kindness. As if that was somehow going to make me feel less uneasy about this situation.

  “Yes, concerned,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem like you’ve been yourself lately.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” I said, “you barely know me.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “But I knew Sarah very well.”

  I gritted my teeth. I hated when other people tried to tell me how well they knew Sarah. They didn’t. No one knew her like I did. They knew an idea they’d built up in their heads. A caricature of a pious girl devoid of flaws. Brother Lloyd may have seen Sarah’s face every Sunday at church. He may have been the one to baptize her. But she didn’t share the things with him that she shared with me. I remember the eulogy he gave at her funeral, the way he’d described her. He didn’t know her very well.

  I wasn’t even sure he truly believed he had.

  “The stories you’ve been telling about her lately,” he continued, “I know you wouldn’t be making up these kinds of things about her if something wasn’t going on with you. So instead of lying about Sarah, why don’t you talk to me about what’s really wrong?”

  “I’m not lying about Sarah,” I said. “I told her parents the truth.”

  “Come on, Leanne,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We both know better than that.”

  “Brother Lloyd, I should be going.”

  He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. “Sarah McHale is a hero to a lot of people, you know. Not just around here, but all over the country. She’s inspired a lot of teenagers to recommit to their faith. There’s even a Christian rock song about her. I think it’s called ‘Her Cross Necklace.’ Have you heard it?”

&nb
sp; My fists were clenched around the steering wheel. “Yes.”

  “Nice song, huh? Not really my genre. I still mostly listen to gospel because I’m not as cool as you young folks but …” He shrugged. “Anyway. Her story means a lot to people. You know that. Why would you try to take that away from them? From Sarah?”

  “Because it wasn’t her necklace,” I said. “And she didn’t say anything to—”

  Brother Lloyd waved a hand to silence me. “Calm down. Calm down. I know you’ve been through a lot, Leanne, but that’s no reason to lash out at others. And especially no reason to say these things about Sarah, who isn’t here to defend herself.”

  “I need to go,” I said, more firmly this time.

  “All right,” he said. “But before you do, please hear me out. I’m not trying to bother you. I mean it when I say I’m just concerned. If word gets out that you’re saying these things … people aren’t going to take too kindly to it.”

  “You mean if you and the McHales tell anyone I’m saying these things.”

  “Well, I don’t see why we ever have to speak of it again if I have your word it won’t be going any further. If you don’t plan on telling these lies to anyone else, then—”

  “They aren’t lies. And I won’t promise that. I want people to know the truth.”

  Brother Lloyd sighed and bowed his head. “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way. I hope you change your mind, but in the meantime, my congregation will be praying for you.”

  And as I drove away a minute later, headed back down the street and past his church, I couldn’t help but think about how much that last sentence had sounded like a threat.

  So I know I said I was focusing more on Sarah than the other victims, but I’m starting to realize that I’ve told you a lot about who she wasn’t and almost nothing about who she was.

  Sarah was always an extrovert. She loved people, loved attention, loved to be the girl making everyone either laugh or fall in love with her. For about a month in sixth grade she was obsessed with astrology, and she took great pride in being a Leo. I, on the other hand, was a Cancer. “That’s why you’re such a hermit,” she’d tease. “You’d never leave the house if it wasn’t for me.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I had the best time when we stayed in, usually holed up in her bedroom, and watched movies or played board games. I liked it most when it was just us. But Sarah always wanted to go places, do things, be seen. And I was always dragged along.

  Maybe dragged is a harsh word. I chose to go wherever she did, because the alternative of spending time without her was too painful. Her parents always joked that we were “joined at the hip,” and there were times when I wished that were literal. Sarah was my only close friend, the only person I felt totally at ease with, and there were times—especially in middle school—where I lived in constant fear that she’d find another friend, a more outgoing, enthusiastic girl that she liked more than me.

  So wherever she went, I followed.

  Looking back, maybe our friendship wasn’t always the healthiest. Sarah could have a bit of a domineering personality. Like the time when we were nine and she insisted on cutting my bangs.

  “I’m not sure,” I told her. “My mom might get mad.”

  “She won’t when she sees how good it looks,” Sarah insisted. “You’d look so much better with bangs. And I know what I’m doing. I saw how to do it on the internet.”

  “I don’t know, Sarah.”

  “Trust me,” she said, already wielding a pair of scissors.

  I did not look better with straight bangs and, yes, my mom was mad. I wore butterfly clips in my hair for months, waiting for it to grow out. Sarah, however, maintained that it was a worthwhile adventure for us both.

  “At least we both learned something,” she said. “You learned that bangs aren’t for you, and I learned that cutting hair isn’t as easy as it looks.”

  Sometimes her overwhelming personality got us both in trouble, but other times, I was grateful for it. Like when we were in seventh grade and some boys started picking on me.

  I was an awkward-looking kid. Too tall. All knees and elbows. Angles and no curves. Actually, I guess not much has changed now, other than my hair. Back then it was long and stick straight with not even a hint of volume. Sarah, on the other hand, was already beautiful, even without the makeup stash she started keeping in her locker that year. There were a lot of jokes about Sarah only being nice to the “ugly girl” because she felt bad.

  “Lee’s lucky Sarah is a good Christian,” we overheard Evan Samuels saying during lunch. “Because clearly that’s just charity.” That, being our friendship.

  It was a stupid insult made by a twelve-year-old boy, but it still stung.

  Sarah, never one to shy away from conflict, marched right over to the boy and said, loud enough for all his friends to hear, “Maybe you’re the one who’s lucky I’m a good Christian. Because it’s the only thing keeping me from kicking your ass.”

  Evan was so stunned (I doubt a girl had ever threatened to kick his ass before) that he didn’t say a word as Sarah walked back over to me, looped her arm through mine, and said, “Come with me to get an extra slice of pizza.” Like nothing had just happened.

  Even though she was always trying to push me into doing more with my appearance—from failed attempts to curl my hair to raiding my closet and telling me that nothing I owned was “flattering to my body type”—if anyone else talked about my looks in even a slightly negative way, Sarah was there to shut it down.

  I still don’t really care about clothes or makeup. Most days I forget to even run a comb through my hair. But every so often, when I’m getting ready for school, I’ll pull out the only lip gloss I own. It’s this sheer, rosy color, and even though I think it looks a little silly on me, I know Sarah would’ve loved it.

  I can almost hear her now.

  “See, Lee! You look so pretty! Now, if you’ll just let me do something with those eyebrows …”

  God, I miss her.

  It’s always a relief to get out of Virgil County, even just for a day or so. And after my uncomfortable encounter with Brother Lloyd, the weekend—and my brief escape—couldn’t come soon enough. Back in December, I’d promised to visit Eden at college before her finals began.

  It was a few hours’ drive, but I’d packed my truck with a change of clothes, some snacks for the road, and a console full of Mom’s old CDs.

  Mom wasn’t home from work yet by the time I left on Friday afternoon, but she texted me. Be safe. And you’d better not be reading this while you’re driving! I replied that I wasn’t on the road yet and promised I’d call when I got to Eden’s dorm. Normally she would have been far more anxious about letting me make this kind of trip on my own, but I think she was not-so-secretly hoping I’d fall in love with Eden’s campus and change my mind about heading to Los Angeles after graduation.

  I parked my truck in the parking lot Eden had directed me to in her email a few days earlier, then I headed toward a large brick building with a sign over the door declaring the name of the dormitory.

  I pulled out my phone and texted Eden, letting her know I was downstairs. It was a little after eight and already dark out. I could see other college students walking across the quads, wearing hoodies with the school’s logo on the front. Boys laughed and girls called to one another as they journeyed off in different directions, moving toward one Friday night destination or another.

  I stood awkwardly outside of Eden’s building, worried someone might pass by and think I looked suspicious, just standing there by the locked door. Even though I was dressed just like everyone else in my oversized gray sweatshirt and distressed jeans, I felt like someone should have noticed the uneasy, lingering stranger. No one even looked twice at me, but I couldn’t help thinking they should have.

  Maybe I looked normal, but so had the guy who brought a gun into my school.

  I hadn’t gone too far down this spiral, at least, when a short girl with shoulder-l
ength hot-pink hair stepped out of the building. She glanced around for a minute before her dark brown eyes rested on me. “Lee?” she asked.

  I looked her over for a second. This wasn’t Eden, obviously, but I had a pretty good idea of who she was, and I was excited to meet her.

  “Are you Jenny?” I asked.

  “Yes!” She shoved the door the rest of the way open and bolted toward me, arms outstretched for a welcoming hug.

  But between her too-fast movements and the slam of the door behind her, I couldn’t help but let out a yelp and flinch away.

  Jenny stopped, frozen in her tracks, a look of regret passing over her round face. “Oh crap. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better. Eden also doesn’t like it when people … You know what? Let me start over and introduce myself like a normal person.” She straightened, smiled, and extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Eden’s girlfriend, Jenny.”

  “Jenny Stewart-Goo,” I said, taking her hand.

  “Just Jenny is fine,” she said. “I take it that means Eden talks about me.”

  “All good things,” I assured her.

  “Same for you,” she said. “Come on. Eden sent me down to grab you. She’s upstairs working on a presentation. She should be finishing up soon, though.”

  Jenny pulled what looked like an ID from the back pocket of her jeans. She waved it in front of a square sensor next to the door, which beeped to let us know it was unlocked. As she put the ID away, I caught a quick glance at the photo, which had Eden’s face on it.

  “This way,” she said, leading me to the stairs. “Unfortunately, she’s on the top floor and there’s no elevator.”

  I wasn’t bothered by this, as it gave me extra time to talk to Jenny.

  “So David Goo is your dad?”

  She looked over her shoulder at me as we hit the first landing. Her dark eyebrows raised with surprise. “You know who my dad is?”

  “I’m actually a fan of his,” I admitted. “I’ve read like four of his plays.”

  David Goo is a Korean American playwright based in Los Angeles. I’d stumbled across one of his plays on the syllabus of a drama school I’d been researching last year, and I’d been blown away. He writes the kind of characters you could lose yourself in. The kind of characters with layers you can peel back, with motivations and backstories and relationships an actor can wrap around themselves, to become someone completely new but equally real. Plays like his are the reason I want to do theater.