“But, honey, it’s too late to regret
What is gone will be no more.”
Instead of taking the direct route to my dorm, something pulls me toward the South Lawn. I’m close enough to hear the mourners, to see the flickering candles from their vigil, but now I can breathe my own air.
I turn slowly in the empty green space. If I close my eyes, I can see it as it looked that night last year, with the tents and the paper lanterns, Lana and her friends tearing up the patch of grass that passed for a dance floor. It’s hard to imagine that one meaningless party could alter the course of our lives, but it’s true. Everything stems from the decision I made that night.
What if I’d made a different choice? The thought has haunted me for a year. What if I’d recognized Chace’s interest those first weeks of school, instead of finding it so unfathomable and pushing him toward Lana instead? In my mind, guys like him belonged with girls like her. I wanted to see them together, my stupid ego needed to prove my insecurities right. And yes, I wanted to be her friend, too. Those months of staying up late talking and sharing secrets like sisters, of being included in her innermost circle—they almost made my decision worth it.
Some friends we turned out to be.
With a shiver, I turn away from the lawn and the ghosts of last year, picking up the pace as I make my way back toward the dorms. But it isn’t long before the ghosts find me again.
The wooden bridge is the midway point between the school’s sprawling fields and its main buildings. Underneath the bridge, in my and Chace’s sanctuary, you can’t see the forest it leads to. But from above, passing the bridge means I’m forced to see the moss-covered trees, their branches stretching toward me like mangled fingers, beckoning me back inside. I’ll never make that mistake again. But even without going near it, the forest still swallows me up in flashes of memory.
“Lana?” I repeat as I move through the woods, struggling to keep my balance on the craggy path. “Where are you guys?”
My palms grow clammy as I realize I really ought to be hearing the sounds of the party by now—but there’s nothing. No music, laughter, or clinking bottles, only the occasional hoot of an owl.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, but the No Service warning flashes at the top of the screen. Shoot.
I hear a flapping sound behind me and I cry out, whirling around in panic, but it’s only a harmless bird. Holding my flashlight in front of me like a weapon, I notice a sheet of paper taped to the tree in front of me. The words “Party Up Ahead!” are scrawled in Lana’s handwriting, above an arrow pointing north. I release the breath I’ve been holding and continue along the trail.
But even as I keep walking, I’m no closer to the action. The woods are still dead silent, with no sign of anyone here but me. When I reach the low cliff that splits my path in two, a sick realization dawns on me.
I shake my head violently to rid myself of the memory. I can’t bear to relive that night—even though I’m forced to face its aftermath whenever I look in the mirror.
I step back into my dorm for the first time since this morning, before my world was shattered. It feels like someone else’s space now. My phone, plugged into the charger in the wall, beeps and flashes and I can only imagine how many messages are waiting for me. I have a brief fantasy of shoving my phone in the sink and letting it die, but then I imagine my mom’s panicked face. She’s probably been trying to reach me all day. There’s no way the news hasn’t gotten out yet—not when it’s the congressman’s son.
I reach for my phone tentatively, as though it could burn my fingers. I have nine missed calls—five from Mom, one from Ryan, another from Brianne, and two from unfamiliar numbers that give me a sinking feeling. What if it’s the cop or the detective with more questions I can’t bear to answer?
My text message inbox is flooded with the same names, and multiple variations of Are you okay? I’m worried, call me! from Mom and Where are you? from Brianne. I start to type a reply to Mom, but I can’t get past the word Sorry before my throat tightens and tears burn my eyes. I hurl my phone across the room, watching as it skids over the carpet and hits the leg of my desk. There’s only one person I want to speak to, whose name I ache to see in my message inbox. And I never will again. The thought is too much to stomach, and I grab my earbuds and iPod off my bedside table, desperate to drown out the noise in my head. I scroll down to a Brahms playlist and slip the buds into my ears.
“However far away, I will always love you.
However long I stay—”