She sits on the edge of my bed. “I don’t think the weight of all this has hit you yet.”
I clench my jaw, because if I don’t, I’ll scream. It hit me two nights ago as soon as I set foot on the bridge. It hit me when my face was shoved into the ground and I couldn’t breathe, when I ran for my life, imagining my mother finding me dead. But it hit me hardest in the cold light of morning, when Gretchen was found instead.
She takes my hand in hers. “You know, I’ve been saving a little money. I thought we could pack up, get out of town for a week. You’ve always wanted to drive up the coast, and—”
“You want to go on a vacation?”
Her chin trembles. “I just hate the idea that whoever did this is still out there.”
I swallow. “Does the sheriff think they might come after me again? Because if he does, he should’ve said so.”
She exhales. “I just thought some time away would be nice . . .”
Under the quilt, my fingers find their way to the cool skin of my left wrist, fumbling for the bracelet Gretchen gave me for my birthday. I haven’t seen it since that night, but I keep looking. I can’t stand the feeling of it not being there.
“Look, maybe I do need some downtime.” It takes effort, but I force myself to relax, lean into her. “But Gretchen’s funeral is Friday and I have to be there.”
My mother pulls the covers up, tucking them under my chin with tentative hands. “We don’t have to go on a trip. Just promise you’ll stay close to home. I don’t want you at school. I don’t want you out anywhere without telling me.”
“Okay.”
I take her hand, staring at the small scar on my knuckle from when I fell off Gretchen’s swing set when we were five. It used to seem big and ugly, but now I realize how small it is, and I’m afraid it’ll disappear, taking more of her away from me.
I fight the sting of tears, but then my mom leans in to kiss my cheek. Her touch is warm and comforting, and so mom-like. I curl into her, letting her stroke my hair, and for the briefest moment, I feel like I did when I was little. Like her kiss will magically make everything better.
“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” she whispers. “If you hadn’t gotten away—I don’t know what I would’ve done if it was you.”
I turn my head to one side, afraid to let her see that thought on my face. But when I close my eyes, my body feels cold and lifeless, like I’m floating in freezing water. I hug my mother tight, cling to her warmth, but no matter what I do I can’t seem to shake the chill.
THREE
I DRESS IN THE DIM early-morning light and tiptoe downstairs holding my boots. My mom’s shift doesn’t start till ten, but she’ll be awake by the time school starts. If I’m going to get an idea of who else was in the park Friday night—who I could put on my suspect list—I need to be in school. I just have to get there and let my mom know I’m safe before she realizes I’m gone.
Uncle Noah’s alone behind the griddle. Usually my little cousin, Felicia, likes to hang out with her dad before school, but Aunt Elena has been keeping her close to home since Friday. Noah waves at me over a batch of hash browns that smell like salty gold. I ignore my grumbling stomach and pull on my boots. They’re tall and black with thick soles and lots of laces, and, along with my blue Penn hoodie, make me feel like I stand a chance against the world.
Uncle Noah eyes my backpack. “Your mom letting you go to school today?”
“Oh, you know, she didn’t want to . . .” I say, not looking at him. “Aisha’s giving me a ride.”
He frowns. “You still have that pepper spray I gave you?”
I pat the pocket of my backpack.
“Good. Stay aware of your surroundings. Use common sense. If your friends can’t drive you home, call me, Dina, or Elena. She’ll be home with Felicia this afternoon.”
“I will, I promise.”
His face screws up for a second and I’m shocked to see the slightest tremble in my big, burly uncle’s chin. “Come here, kiddo.”
I’ve never really been one for hugging, but I let him fold me into his arms.
“We all love you. Nothing that happened was your fault, I hope you know that.”
My throat closes up, turning my chest into a crushing weight. I’ve lain awake, failing to convince myself of this, the last three nights, but I manage a nod squashed against his vast form. I pull away and glance at the blank screen of my phone. “Aisha’s here. I’d better go.”