Garrett. I wanted to fall at his feet and wait for the sirens. Wait for the rough, grabbing hands to haul me to my feet. The dark of a car that would take me away and I’d never see Jo again…
The night’s plans were blown apart and scattered like ashes of the dead. A different future from the one I sought with her was ordering itself around me. I had to find Jo and tell her to not be afraid. To hold on and wait for me. Wait for us.
I had to tell her goodbye.
“Garrett. I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Then I ran.
I pedaled as fast as I could to the pool, but police cars were already parked at Funtown’s front gates. Blue-and-red lights flashed and sirens in the distance told me more cops were on the way. I circled to the park’s northeast corner, tossed my bike to the ground and scaled the fence. Climbing over, my dress snagged and tore on the chain link. Another piece of what should have been a perfect night ripping away.
The sky looked bruised, darkening into green-blue. The wind howled. The storm the forecasters said was coming had arrived. The rain that had been a soft patter was becoming heavier.
Evan stood at the pool’s edge, his back to me, looking down into the water. In the park’s lights I could see his tuxedo was scuffed and blood matted at the back of his neck.
“Evan!” I screamed against the howling winds, running to his side. He turned slowly, and I gasped to see his face, his beautiful face, swollen and bloody.
For a moment, his eyes looked through me, as if he didn’t recognize me. Then filled with tears. In his hand was the crushed and dirty remains of a white flower.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I did this. I ruined everything and you… God, you look so beautiful.”
“Evan, what happened?” I felt panic welling up in me, yet Evan seemed so calm. Defeated. I clutched his arms. “What happened? Tell me what’s going on. I saw an ambulance at your house, they said—”
“Garrett. I hurt him bad. It was an accident but it was still my fault.” Evan’s gaze flicked over my shoulder and then back to me. He took my face in his hands, holding me gently as the wind howled. “I have to go now.”
My heart cracked in two. The clang of gates and a thunder of footsteps behind me.
“Jo, I have to go with them. But I’ll find you. I promise. I’ll find you and I will come back to you.”
I shook my head, not understanding. Not wanting to understand or even hear. Then the police surrounded us. Evan was wrenched away from me and pushed to the ground. One cop pressing his knee between his shoulder blades as he handcuffed Evan’s hands behind him.
They were taking him away. The truth slapped my face and I screamed, “Leave him alone!”
I flew at the two officers leading Evan away. Rough hands grabbed my arms and hauled me back. It was pouring now, falling in thick sheets.
As he was marched away, Evan looked back over his shoulder at me. Through his grief-stricken expression, he smiled. So sad, so full of love, and so full of what might have been.
Then he was gone
Police surrounded me, barking questions until they realized I was just a bystander. His prom date. His hysterical girlfriend.
“Evan would never have hurt him on purpose! It was all a mistake! A lie! Please...”
But they weren’t listening. They were hearing me but not listening.
“For years,” I cried, tears streaming, “they bullied him. I can testify…I saw his bruises…I can tell you the truth.”
They just smiled pityingly at me. One cop offered me a blanket. Another offered a ride home. I stared, no more words left. I walked home, my bike forgotten. The rain kept coming down. The wind tore at my ruined dress and pulled the last weaves of my braid apart. Lightning screamed across the sky.
Yes! I screamed back.
The storm raged for me, shattering the sky and weeping for Evan.
I stumbled into my house, sodden and shivering, and went up to my room. On my desk lay the love poem I’d been assigned by Ms. P, ready to be turned in.
My eyes scanned the page and found a line at random.
He touches me and I think
This is what hope feels like
Rainwater dripped from my hair onto the page, blurring the blue ink. I took the poem and tore it in half. Then again. Again. I ripped it to shreds and then brushed the scraps away. I drew out a new sheet of paper and began to write.
In the days following Evan’s arrest I fought as hard as I could for him. I made statements, spoke to Evan’s public defender. But it was too late, and I was too weak.
The prosecution had the records from Woodside. They had the testimony of Evan’s brothers. They had the grief of a mother who saw nothing but her son’s broken face, and nothing from the little boy who hadn’t woken up to say what happened.