I wanted to savor the moment. I’d aced the test and I had four tutoring sessions booked to keep me on track this week. I should have felt buoyed by Rankin’s confidence in me, but I couldn’t shake the image of Kylie Rutherford, strung up and tied like a lamb for slaughter.
Anh turned her test facedown and tried to hold a smile, but it wavered, and she gave up. I opened my mouth to apologize, a stab of guilt prodding me to say something. But I stopped. Anything I said would sound clumsy and insincere.
The silence was deafening as Rankin marked his attendance log. Finally he said, “I’m afraid I must share some rather grave news with you today.” I imagined every eye in the room darting in my direction, but when I looked up all eyes were on Rankin. “Some of you may already know that two students passed away this weekend under tragic and uncertain circumstances. Posie Washington and Teddy Marshall are no longer with us. There will be a memorial service for them here at the school on Friday.”
A roar of whispers erupted, rumors confirmed behind cupped hands. Oleksa’s head rotated slowly in my direction. Our eyes locked, and I turned away.
Rankin went on to disclose the events of the weekend in vague detail. I slunk down, kept my eyes low. It wasn’t hard to look broken by the news. I picked at the corner of the sticky note, wondering if Kylie Rutherford had any idea what she’d signed up for.
? ? ?
“I’m sorry! I just can’t do it.” Kylie dragged her fingers through the magenta hair at her temples and squeezed her head. As if that might somehow expel the information from her brain and spray it across the page.
“You can do it. We have all week to practice. The test isn’t until Friday.” I pushed the book at her. She looked up through a jagged veil of bangs. Her raccoon eyes were shiny and wet.
“I’m not smart like you.” The pathetic whine seemed out of character with her tough-girl face. She wrestled a finger under the dog collar at her throat, like she was loosening a tie. Or a noose. I closed my eyes and shook off the thought, but not before seeing the mud-colored hickey behind the leather band.
“You are smart,” I lied, unable to stop staring at the bruise on her neck. Kylie lived a few doors down from my trailer. She was seventeen and already a rent-a-girl. She’d be lucky to finish school at all, much less pass this test. “You can pass this,” I said anyway. “You just have to memorize a few simple equations.” And stop letting losers suck away your future.
Kylie smeared the black stream under her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re really nice. I don’t believe anything people are saying about you,” she said between sniffles. “I mean, not the bad stuff. You don’t seem like the type.”
I stiffened. “What bad stuff ?”
“You know, all that stuff about how you think you’re so much better than the rest of us just because you’re smart. I think it’s cool that you’re smart. Gives the rest of us a reason to hope, right? Everyone’s talking about you maybe getting some big scholarship—that you might make it out of the park. I hope you do.” She smiled. It was a sad smile, like the corners of her mouth had to fight to pick themselves up.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I was used to people talking about me, but not like this. Usually, the comments felt like hands grabbing at my ankles, dragging me back down into the slag. I’d never thought anyone in the park would care enough to offer a push from below. Like it might lighten their burdens if just one of us could make it out.
“Thanks.” I took one last look at her neck, feeling protective for reasons I didn’t want to think about. Her face flushed, splotchy and streaked. She fidgeted with her dog collar, pulling it up to conceal the mark, ashamed—the same way my mother tugged up the collar of her robe. Kylie would be someone else’s Mona someday. “I hope you do too.”
She looked down at the desk. “Can I give you one piece of advice?” Her brow lined with thoughtful creases. “Lonny says you’re seeing that new kid, Reece?”
I nodded, feeling a little more cautious now that I knew who’d been sucking the life out of her.
“Be careful,” she said. “Boys like him . . .” Kylie cocooned her hands in the cuffs of her sleeves. I wondered what secrets she was hiding under them. “Just be careful.”
I wanted to tell her the same, but I couldn’t. Not without saying too much. So I changed the subject instead.
“What are you doing on Friday night, to celebrate after the test?” I asked casually, as if I wasn’t so anxious to know the answer. As if her life didn’t depend on it.
32
Both Posie’s and Teddy’s funerals took place on Wednesday, one after the other, and the school announced a liberal absence policy for those who wished to attend. I didn’t wish to. I wanted them both to be alive and well. But I’d go.