by Liz Kessler
She’s stomping away, down toward the flat rocks below us. My rage is creating whirlpools in the water between the rocks. Witches’ cauldrons, bubbling with heat.
I follow her down and try to grab her arm. My hand goes through her. I can’t get hold of her. I’m losing her.
“I’ve been under a black cloud for so long,” she cries. “It’s been like waiting for my life to begin. And then I finally make some friends, start to have some fun — and you want to stop me.”
“Erin, I don’t want to stop you from having fun. I don’t want to stop you from having friends. Just . . . just not him. Not Olly.”
“But why not? I’d have thought you’d be happy to think that your brother’s got a friend as well. He sure needs one right now.”
Her words slap me in the face so hard I actually raise my hand to my cheek.
Erin reaches out to my face, closes her hand over mine. This time we make contact again. “I — I’m sorry. I just mean that he’s grieving, Joe. For you. He loves you, like I do.”
Her words harden something inside me, locking down a sheet of metal around my heart. “Don’t talk to me about my brother loving me,” I say in a voice that even I don’t recognize.
“But why?” Erin insists. I need her to stop asking, to stop pushing, to just do what I say. “He’s your brother, for God’s sake! You sound like you hate him. Why can’t I be his friend? Just give me one reason, and I’ll stop. One reason — if you have one.”
And then it is there. The truth comes up from inside me, so ferociously it shocks even me.
“Because he killed me, Erin!”
My words crackle across the sky like a thundercloud. I didn’t even know they were there until they came out of my mouth. But I do now, and I will never be able to hide from them again.
I didn’t realize it had started raining, but my cheeks are wet. Tears mingling with big, fat raindrops plopping down on us. Can I cry tears?
And then I’m on my knees, my head in my hands. The sudden knowledge has floored me. “He killed me,” I repeat, my words burning my throat as they seep out of me. My hands around my knees, Erin’s arms around me. “He killed me. He killed me.”
Sunday night, I shut myself away in my room. I don’t want to see anyone. I need to think. I need to be on my own.
Lying on my bed, I stare at the ceiling and try to get my head around what happened today.
He killed me, Erin.
I can’t get Joe’s words out of my mind. If I hadn’t seen his face as he said them, seen how sure he was of his facts, I would not have believed it possible. I asked him over and over what he meant, how he knew, how it had happened, but he had nothing. Except those words: He killed me. He killed me.
Olly. The happy-go-lucky guy who makes me laugh and always has a smile. But now that I think about it, maybe that’s weird in itself. I mean, his brother died only months ago. How can he smile at anything?
The thought makes me shiver.
Maybe that’s even more proof that Joe is right. Olly killed him, and he doesn’t even care. He has no remorse, no shame. How else could he go around smiling and joking the way he does, as if he hasn’t got a care in the world?
But, really? Olly — a murderer? It’s not possible; it can’t be.
The pieces simply don’t add up. And so I make three decisions.
The first is that I’m going to find out what happened. Joe couldn’t remember any facts about his death — just the knowledge that Olly was responsible. He can’t remember how he died, where, even when. Up till now, he’s never asked, never wanted to know. We’ve been too wrapped up in each other to worry about anything else. And maybe this is the moment. The turning point. What we do now could change everything. Maybe this is our chance to be together. I know it’s ridiculous; I know I’m kidding myself; I know it’s idiocy on a level I would laugh at if someone told me. But what if the truth is the key that will unlock everything? That will somehow bring Joe back for good? What if . . . ?
I had promised Joe I wouldn’t look into it, way back when we first met. He didn’t want me to — and neither did I. I didn’t want to run the risk of seeing something I couldn’t un-see. Even without Joe telling me not to, I wasn’t confident enough that I could cope with the certainty of that knowledge.
But things have changed. I need to know now, and so does Joe. I’m going to find out all of it. I don’t care what it takes. And I don’t care if someone ends up in prison — even if it’s his brother. I’m going to get justice for Joe.
The second decision is easy. I’m not going to see Olly again. The thought of being near him makes my skin prickle with fear and disgust. I’m not going to talk to him, I’m not going to talk about him. I’m having nothing to do with him.
My third decision is that until I’ve gotten to the bottom of how Joe died, I’m not going to rest. It is the only thing I will give my time, my thoughts, and my attention to. That and being with Joe. Those are the only things that matter to me now.
I wake up on Monday morning feeling good. Erin was busy with her friends and family all weekend, so I haven’t seen her since Friday night. I can’t wait to see her, find out how her weekend went, see what she’s been up to. Hang out.
I half expect to bump into her in the school yard before homeroom, but she’s not there. Maybe she’s late.
I look for her at break. Can’t find her anywhere.
Lunchtime, I figure I’m bound to see her in the cafeteria. She’ll be with Zoe and the others.
She isn’t.
I text her, but she doesn’t reply.
Is she home sick? Maybe I could go around and take her some soup after school. That’s what you take people when they’re sick, isn’t it?
Except I don’t even know where she lives. Plus I don’t know she’s sick at all.
So I do something I haven’t done for months and could quite happily never have bothered doing again: I approach Zoe.
“Hey, is this seat free?” I ask, sauntering over to her table with a sandwich and a packet of chips. Kirsty and Nia glance at me, then back at Zoe, their eyes like saucers.
Zoe, on the other hand, is cool as anything.
“Sure,” she replies without even looking at me as she swallows her mouthful of food and waves a hand over their bags, stacked on the bench opposite her. “Nia, shift our stuff and let Olly sit down.”
It’s really not what I want to be doing, but I sit down next to Nia, opposite Zoe, and try to think of how to make small talk.
Zoe saves me the bother. Picking a french fry off her plate and waving it suggestively in front of her lips, she smiles a slow smile at me. “So,” she drawls. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“I — um, I just thought we haven’t chatted for a while and —”
“Let me guess.” Zoe cuts me off. “You’re wondering where your new girlfriend is.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend,” I say, my voice steel. I’m not going to let her get to me.
Five months we went out. I don’t know how I did it. Well, yes, I do. Fancied her like crazy. She sure knows how to switch it on, pull all the right moves, keep a guy wanting more, act the part to perfection.
And that’s the problem. She’s just one big act. She hardly ever lets the real Zoe out, and the acting gets tiresome after a while. Still, she’s my best chance of finding out what’s happened to Erin, so I need to keep it cool.
“OK,” I admit after a pause. “Yeah, I’m looking for Erin. Know where she is?”
Zoe turns to the others, holding her arms out in a told you so gesture. “And there was me thinking Olly here actually wanted the pleasure of our company.”
Kirsty laughs — too loud. Nia doesn’t really respond. Her dark cheeks flush a little and she goes back to eating her lunch.
I force a laugh. This is going badly. “Of course I want your company,” I insist, not convincing anyone. “It’s been ages since we’ve hung out.”
Zoe raises an eyebrow
. “Yes.” She bites the word out. “It has.”
I’m not sure she actually has the right to be acting so miffed. I don’t think she was ever into more than the idea of us as some kind of perfect couple. But we weren’t, not really. Spending time with Erin has made me realize even more that Zoe was never really interested in me as a person.
On the other hand, I don’t want to alienate her right now. I decide to go for the sympathy card. It’s true, anyway.
“I’ve kind of had things on my mind this year,” I mumble. It does the trick. Zoe at least has the decency to look embarrassed by her high-and-mighty attitude.
“I know,” she says, biting the edge of her lipsticked mouth. “And if there’s anything you ever want from me, anything I can do, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
I don’t know if she’s actually being genuine, if she actually cares about me, or if she’s playing a part again. Either way, I appreciate the gesture. “Yeah. I will. Thanks.”
Zoe goes back to her fries. “Anyway. Library,” she says in an offhand voice.
The rapid change of subject catches me out. “What about the library?”
“That’s where your girlfriend is.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I insist.
Zoe shrugs. “Whatever.”
But she’s right. I’ve got the information I came for. I haven’t really got anything else to discuss with her. With any of them.
I get up from the bench and grab my sandwich and chips. “Well, I’ll see you around, then,” I say.
“Not if I see you first,” Zoe says.
“See you, Olly,” Nia adds. Kirsty gives me a wave.
The library. I can’t even remember the last time I went there. Not sure I’ve even been near it since being in the sixth form. It’s in a separate building from where all my classes are.
I check my watch. There’s still half an hour before afternoon classes. I hurry down the corridor and across the yard. I just hope she hasn’t left before I get there.
I could quite easily stretch my arms out on the desk, put my head down on them, and fall asleep. I stayed up too late last night, tossing and turning and planning. And the first thing I have to do is find out Joe’s last name. Turns out that when you’ve been so busy discussing important things like poetry and love and waves and cliffs with someone, and so busy having a laugh with their brother, weeks can easily go by without it occurring to you that you don’t even know their surname. I’m sure someone must have mentioned it at school, but if they have, I’ve forgotten it.
So I’ve ended up in the library, scrolling through yearbooks. My eyes are on the verge of closing when I see it.
A photo of Joe.
Gardiner. Joe Gardiner. That’s his name. That was his name.
For a ridiculous moment, I find myself trying out the sound of Erin Gardiner in my head. I like it. Too bad, as I’ll never get the chance to use it.
Now that I know his name, a flash of panic goes through me. What’s my next step?
I decide to try Facebook. See if there’s an account linked with his name.
I don’t get very far with that idea. School computers don’t allow access to Facebook and phones are banned in the library, so I’ll have to check when I get home.
So I’ll just look him up. Just put his name in Google and see what comes up.
I type his name into the search bar, but my fingers are reluctant to hit the Search button. I’m still too scared of what I’ll see.
My hand is hovering over the mouse, my brain trying to force it to click the button, when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“There you are!”
Without stopping to think about it, I hit the x in the top corner and close the page.
I don’t turn around.
Olly sidles up next to me, pulling up a chair.
“What are you up to?” he asks, glancing at the computer screen, which is now completely blank. Did he see? Oh, my God, did he see what I was doing?
“I’m busy,” I say without turning to look at him. I only feel slightly ridiculous pretending to be engrossed in a computer screen that has absolutely nothing on it. Mostly I feel a mixture of revulsion and anxiety at him being so near to me.
“Erin?” he says, a question mark hanging off the end of the word.
What do I do? I don’t want to look at him. I certainly don’t want to talk to him. I force myself to turn my head. “Look. I haven’t got time to chat,” I insist. “I’ve got to get some homework finished for this afternoon.”
Olly looks at the screen, then back at me. “Really? ’Cause I’m no technical expert or anything, but it doesn’t look like you’ve got a huge amount going on there right now.”
Then he does that thing he does. It’s like a smile that’s aimed right at you like a dart, or an arrow. Or a bullet.
Which only reminds me of Joe’s words.
He killed me.
“I just closed a page,” I say, relieved that at least he almost definitely hadn’t seen what I was doing. “But I need to get on with it.” Then as an afterthought, because his face drops like a puppy’s who’s just been told he can’t go for a walk, I add, “Sorry.”
Olly doesn’t say anything for a moment. Part of me wants to change my mind, tell him I don’t mean it, abandon what I’m doing and hang out with him. I want to pretend he’s just a regular guy, I’m a regular girl. Pretend Joe hasn’t said anything about him. I want him to make me smile and make me laugh, take away my sadness — or at least distract me from it for a while.
But the other part of me keeps hearing Joe’s words.
He killed me. He killed me.
Whatever exactly happened between them, Joe’s words are enough to tell me that if it wasn’t for Olly, Joe would actually be here in real life. He’d be in the same class as me. I would have met the real, alive Joe, right here in this school. We’d have met, and gotten together. We could have had a normal life, could have gotten to know each other and fallen in love without it feeling like torture.
The thought of it makes me gasp for air. The library suddenly feels too small, the air too tight, and with Olly sitting next to me, it feels dangerous, too.
“Please, Olly. I need to get on with it,” I say, although I know I can’t do any more looking online. Not now. Not with my head feeling like this. I know this kind of feeling, I’ve been here too many times before. It starts with a flicker of nerves in my stomach. Before I know it, I’m in the throes of a full-on panic attack, panting and gasping for air.
I can’t let Olly see how I feel.
Eventually he stands up. “OK,” he says. “I can take a hint.” Then he adds, with a glimmer of humor in his voice, “Not that it was a hint exactly. More of a sledgehammer.”
He’s waiting for me to laugh and tell him I’ll see him later.
I don’t.
“OK. Right.” He’s still there. “I’ll see you later? Like, maybe get together after school?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, Olly. I’ll see you around, OK?”
Olly laughs. But it’s not a normal laugh. Not the kind that I’ve enjoyed hearing. Not the kind that sounds happy. This one sounds bitter, dark.
“I’ll see you around?” he repeats. “Really?”
I shrug. “Sorry,” I mumble.
He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he softly places his chair under the desk in a way that is more sinister than if he’d thrown it across the room. So controlled. Mixed with Joe’s words that are repeating and repeating on a constant loop in my head, it makes me wonder what he’s capable of. What he’s done.
I hold my breath until he’s left the room.
When I hear the door close behind him, I finally let my breath out. My eyes are stinging with tears. I’m not going to cry them, though. Not for him. Not for the person who killed the boy I love.
I will never cry a single tear for him.
What the hell? I mean, seriously, what the hell? Did that actually just happen?
>
She completely cut me dead.
I’ll see you around?
In other words: get the hell out of my life, and don’t wait by the phone, ’cause I won’t be calling.
I march down the corridor, my brain a dark cloud, my body coiled and ready for a fight. I slam through the doors at the end of the corridor and head out into the yard.
People are everywhere. Year sevens playing with a jump rope, giggling in high voices. Older girls gossiping in a corner. Gangs of boys slouching around the place, trying not to look as lost and stupid as they all know, deep down inside, they are.
I hate them all.
The darkness is growing in my mind. The black mist that covers everything and takes away reason. I know this feeling. I’ve hidden from it for a long time, kidded myself it’s not there. But it’s always there, underneath.
It is not a good feeling.
In the far corner, a group of lads are messing around on the soccer field. There are fifteen minutes of lunch left.
I make my way over to them. I know from experience that the only way to get out of a mood like this is to kick a ball around as hard as I can — and hope that no one gets in the way.
I can’t concentrate all afternoon. Double psychology. An hour and a half on child cognitive development. Seriously.
It’s all I can do not to run out of the class. Somehow, I manage to deep-breathe my way through it, repeating my mantras over and over, drawing on all my techniques. Taking slow breaths into my stomach. Gaining control and composure. Calling on all my strategies.
I make a list.
THREE REASONS I DO NOT
NEED TO PANIC
1. Olly has never done anything to make me feel nervous or scared in any way whatsoever.
2. Even if he did, he can’t get me on my own. I have people around me all afternoon, and I’m walking home with Phoebe.
3. I took a self-defense course last year. If it turned out I had any reason to feel threatened — which I am fairly certain I won’t — then I figure I’ve got fifty-fifty odds of fending him off.
